DLSIKL 


SILBERILAD 


DESIRE 


DESIRE 


BY 

U.   L.    S1LBERRAD 


NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,   PAGE   &   COMPANY 

1908 


RICHARD  CLAY  &  SONS.  LIMITED, 

BREAD  STREET  HILI  ,  K.C.,  AND 

BUNGAY,  SUFFOLK. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 
CHAPTER 


I  . 

II  . 

III  . 

IV  . 

V  . 

VI  . 
VII. 
VIII 

IX  . 

X  . 

XI  . 
XII. 
XIII 
XIV 
XV  . 
XVI 
XVII 
XVIII 
XIX 
XX  . 
XXI 
XXII 
XXIII 


116 

131 
146 

158 
1  80 


230 
246 
26l 
283 
296 
312 

33° 
347 
358 


2138326 


>  V-- 

»       **.»-,».-».       * 


DESIRE 


CHAPTER  I 

PETER  GRIMSTONE  stood  in  a  doorway  looking  on.  Nature 
had  given  him  some  faculty  for  that,  or  at  least  endowed 
him  with  characteristics  which  made  him  content  without 
a  star  part  in  things.  He  had  reason  to  be  content  to-night ; 
the  company  in  which  he  found  himself  was  in  part 
fashionable,  in  part  artistic,  and  he  was  neither  the  one  nor 
the  other  ;  the  occasion  was  a  soiree  which  the  artistic  gave 
to  the  fashionable,  and  he  had  entrance  there  by  right  of  a 
ticket  handed  on  to  him  by  a  man  who,  in  turn,  had 
received  it  from  another.  He  knew  no  one  present,  and — 
this  was  stranger — had  no  wish  to  know  any  one.  He  had 
frankly  said  when  he  accepted  the  ticket  he  wanted  to  see 
what  it  was  like,  and  he  literally  was  seeing  and  nothing 
more. 

There  was  a  great  crush  ;  Peter  recognized  several  well- 
known  men.  Of  the  women  he  did  not  know  any  even  by 
sight,  but  though  he  knew  nothing  of  the  hundred  distinctions 
there  were  between  those  present  on  such  an  occasion,  he 
did  know  that  some  few  had  the  appearance  of  being  much 
more  perfectly  finished  than  the  others.  There  was  one  not 
far  from  his  doorway  who  particularly  caught  his  attention  ; 
she  was  not  really  beautiful  though,  like  others  of  the  perfect 
sort,  she  gave  one  an  impression  of  it,  a  more  lasting 


DESIRE 

impression  too,  than  greater  beauties  among  them.  Her 
hair  and  eyes  had  a  curious  red  shade  in  them,  and  she  was 
tall  and  powerfully  built,  with  a  beautiful  strong  body  which 
followed  natural  lines  in  defiance  of  fashion.  Her  dress 
rather  defied  fashion  too,  for  in  spite  of  a  general  taste  for 
things  which  stuck  out  hers  clung  about  her,  winding  round 
her  when  she  walked  and  revealing  the  splendid  strength 
and  grace  of  her  movements  in  a  way  Peter  admired — at 
least  he  did  till  he  caught  the  moist  eye  of  a  man  at  his 
elbow  fixed  on  the  beautiful  figure.  Then  he  looked  away, 
vaguely  ashamed. 

At  that  instant  the  woman  glanced  round  and  caught  his 
look.  She  said  something  to  her  companion,  she  had  a  man 
with  her :  a  succession  of  men  had  sought  her  notice.  This 
one  glanced  towards  Peter,  without  interest,  and  Peter  was 
momentarily  amused,  for  his  utter  insignificance  removed 
him  as  far  from  any  one  present  as  if  he  wore  a  cloak  of 
invisibility. 

A  stout  dowager  and  a  famous  artist  passed  ;  they  paused 
a  moment  while  the  lady  made  some  gracious  speech  ; 
when  they  moved  she  of  the  red  hair  was  alone,  her  cavalier 
dismissed  on  some  errand.  Two  others  quickly  took  his 
place,  and  Peter,  himself  no  longer  under  observation,  watched 
her  again  until  the  dismissed  one  returned.  The  kaleido- 
scopic crowd  came  between,  and  Peter  lost  interest  in  him  ; 
when  he  next  saw  him  he  was  approaching  Peter  himself; 
almost  unavoidably  their  eyes  met,  and  as  they  did  so  a  look 
of  recognition  came  into  the  stranger's. 

"  Why  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  it  is  you  !  I've  been  puzzling 
over  your  face  no  end.  Who'd  have  expected  to  see  you 
here?" 

"  No  one  would,"  Peter  answered,  with  truth.  He  was  a 
good  deal  nonplussed,  it  was  almost  as  much  of  a  shock  to  be 

2 


DESIRE 

accosted  in  this  crowd  as  in  solitude.  He  also  knew  the 
stranger  was  mistaken  and  he  said  so. 

"  What  !  you've  forgotten  me  ?  "  the  other  said.  "  I'm 
Bamfield." 

Peter  was  perfectly  sure  that  he  had  never  seen  the 
man  before  to-night,  he  had  not  even  known  any  one 
of  the  name ;  he  said  so  politely.  But  the  other  did 
not  heed,  probably  did  not  hear,  there  was  a  continuous  noise 
of  talk  and  music  going  on,  also  he  was  speaking  himself, 
apparently  quite  assured  of  Peter's  identity  and  the  sufficiency 
of  his  own  explanation. 

"  Beastly  crush,"  he  said  ;  "  no  end  of  strange  animals  here. 
I  suppose  you  don't  know  any  one  hardly  ? — don't  know 
many  myself — one  or  two  of  our  people.  D'you  know 
Miss  Ouebell  ?  I'll  introduce  you." 

Now  Peter  Grimstone  was  an  essentially  straightforward 
person,  but  when  the  man  who  had  called  himself  Bamfield 
mentioned  Miss  Quebell,  and  glanced  towards  her  of  the 
reddish  hair,  Peter  hesitated — then  went. 

He  was  introduced,  but  he  did  not  catch  by  what  name 
though  he  listened.  Miss  Quebell  said  she  was  glad  to 
meet  him,  or  some  other  commonplace,  which  would  have 
sounded  nothing  in  another  voice  but  which  in  hers  had  an 
alluring,  almost  personal  note  new  to  Peter.  He  wondered 
who  she  took  him  for  ;  she  was  very  gracious  and  even 
allowed  him  the  coveted  seat  beside  her,  but  no  word  she 
uttered  helped  him. 

In  a  little  she  dismissed  the  obliging  Bamfield.  When  he 
had  gone  she  turned  to  Peter. 

"Well,"  she  said  abruptly,  "what  do  you  think  of  us 
all?" 

Peter  was  surprised  alike  by  the  question  and  the 
intimacy  of  the  manner.  In  his  limited  experience  one  made 

3 


DESIRE 

acquaintance — if  one  did  it — by  slow  degrees,  and  he  hardly 
knew  how  to  answer. 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  what  you  mean,"  he 
said. 

"  Yes,  you  do,"  she  retorted  ;  "  you  stood  in  your  doorway 
and  looked  on  at  us,  at  the  whole  lot  of  marionettes,  like  a 
man  from  another  planet,  till  I  was  inclined  to  come  behind 
you  and  demand  your  thoughts.  Perhaps  you  think  I  am 
rather  doing  that  now  ?  So  I  am.  What  is  your  opinion  of 

us?" 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  got  one,"  Peter  answered  truthfully. 

"  You  see,  I  am  not  in  a  position  to  have  one.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  any  one  here." 

"  Don't  you  really  r "  she  said  with  mock  gravity. 
a  I  thought  you  looked  as  if  you  knew  every  one  here." 

Peter,  who  watched  her  face  all  the  time  she  spoke  with 
earnest  gravity,  smiled.  Then  he  made  his  confession — "  I 
don't  know  that  man,  Bamfield,  who  introduced  me  to  you  $ 
I  don't  know  who  he  took  me  for,  but  I  am  certainly  not 
he." 

"  How  can  you  be  sure  of  that  ?  "  she  asked.  "  If  you 
don't  know  who  he  took  you  for  you  can't  know  you  are  not 
he.  Why  shouldn't  you  have  made  the  mistake  and  not 
Mr.  Bamfield  ? " 

"I  never  saw  him  before,"  Peter  persisted.  "I  don't 
know  any  one — of  his  sort." 

"  *  Of  his  sort '  !  "  she  laughed.  "  Poor  thing  !  He's  an 
idler,  I  grant  it,  a  mere  fetcher  and  carrier,  but  you  need  not 
entirely  relegate  him  to  '  a  sort ' — he  is  not  such  a  fool  as  he 
looks  ;  I  sometimes  suspect  he  has  brains  though  he  would 
blush  to  have  it  known,  and,  anyhow,  he  does  know  some 
serious  people  who  work,  like  my  father." 

Peter  did  not  doubt  it,  still  he  maintained  that  he  was 

4 


DESIRE 

himself  unknown.  She  listened  to  his  explanation,  watching 
him  with  the  whole-souled  attention  she  seemed  to  devote  to 
the  object  of  momentary  interest,  whatever  it  might  be. 
When  he  had  finished  she  said — 

"  Don't  you  think  you  might  tell  me  who  you  really  are, 
since  you  are  not  who  he  said  ? — though  I  have  not  the  least 
idea  who  that  is.  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  nobody,"  Peter  confessed ;  "  my  name  is 
Grimstone,  and  I  am  a  writer  of  sorts  :  I  suppose  a  journalist, 
after  a  fashion  :  that  is  to  say,  I  do  a  certain  amount  of 
writing  for  papers  and  magazines  and  things." 

«  And  don't  like  it .?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;   I  do  in  a  way.     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  sure  you  don't  really.  You  have  not  the 
look  or  the  manner  one  associates  with  journalists." 

"  I  am  not  altogether  one,"  he  explained  ;  "  there  is  other 

work  which  I  like  much  better,  and  by  and  by Well,  I 

don't  suppose  I  shall  always  be  a  journalist,  though  I  expect 
I  shall  always  be  a  writer." 

The  moment  the  words  were  spoken  Peter  was  surprised 
at  himself,  he  had  never,  except  under  pressure  of  dire  neces- 
sity, given  so  much  confidence  to  a  human  being  before.  It 
is  hard  to  say  what  induced  him  to  do  it  now,  unless  it  was 
the,  to  him,  astonishingness  of  her  interest. 

She,  for  her  part,  showed  no  surprise  :  perhaps  she  was 
used  to  confidences  ;  she  just  nodded.  "  Novels  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  answered  ;  he  could  not  go  further  than 
that  in  self-revelation  even  though  the  thing  was  so  near 
fruition  that  it  was  less  ambition  than  fact  now.  "  Do  you 
think  I  don't  look  like  that  either  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  considered  him  thoughtfully.  "  Of  course  you  are  so 
young  yet,"  she  said,  and  then,  seeing  the  frankness  was 
rather  a  surprise  to  him,  she  added,  "  You  don't  mind  my 

5 


DESIRE 

saying  it,  do  you  ?  You  may  grow  into  a  novelist  one  day, 
though  I  don't  know.  You  will  never  write  yellow,  or  purple, 
or  whatever  you  call  the  sort  of  novel  which  sells  by  the 
hundred  thousand.  I  tell  you  what  you  look  like,  a  con- 
structor :  one  who  builds  things,  not  one  who  does  them  in 
a  flash  of  inspiration.  Can  one  build  novels  ? " 

"  I  hope  so,"  he  answered,  rising, "  if  it  is  the  only  way  I 
can  do  them,  for  I  mean  to  do  it." 

"  I  have  meant  to  do  several  things  at  several  times,"  she 
answered,  making  no  sign  of  dismissal. 

"  Have  you  ?  "  he  began  with  interest,  then,  remembering 
the  nature  of  his  introduction,  he  stopped  and  apologized. 
"  I've  no  right  to  ask  you  about  it,"  he  said  ;  "  no  business  to 
be  talking  to  you  at  all." 

"  Why  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Why  have  you  no  business  to 
speak  of  my  characteristics  and  I  to  speak  of  yours  ?  Because 
we  have  never  met  before  to-night  and  may  never  meet 
again  ?  I  see  no  reason  in  that.  Life's  not  long  enough  to 
bother  over  making  acquaintance  ;  if  a  person  is  worth  know- 
ing let's  come  to  hand-grips  at  once.  Don't  you  think  so  ? " 

"  It  sounds  a  good  theory,"  he  allowed,  "  but  how  are  you 
to  know  what  a  person  is  worth  without  some  preliminaries? 
He  may  not  really  be  worth  what  you  think  he  is." 

"  Then  you  can  drop  him,"  she  said  ;  "  but,"  she  added,  "  I 
always  know  when  a  person  interests  me,  that  is  all  any  one 
is  worth  to  me  ;  when  they  do  that  I  seek  them  out  with- 
out any  ulterior  motives.  You  interested  me  when — "  she 
was  going  to  say  "  you  were  abashed  for  me,"  but  she  changed 
it  to — "  when  I  saw  you  looking  on.  Of  course,  I  don't 
flatter  myself  that  I  necessarily  interest  you — very  likely  I 
bore  you  to  death,  if  so  the  remedy  is  simple — go.  If  I 
don't,  take  the  advice  of  an  old  hand,  and  don't  for  Heaven's 
sake  throw  away  a  chance  of  amusement,  however  slight." 

6 


DESIRE 

Peter  sat  down  again. 

He  was  still  there  when  another  woman,  equally  expensive 
looking  but  totally  unlike  the  first,  and  some  years  older, 
approached.  Miss  Quebell  presented  him  to  the  newcomer, 
who,  to  his  great  surprise,  appeared  to  be  her  step-mother. 
The  older  woman  not  only  did  not  look  nearly  old  enough, 
but  was  so  utterly  and  entirely  unlike  the  younger  that  there 
might  have  been  a  century  of  civilization  and  the  whole 
gamut  of  womanhood  between.  Her  manners  were  gracious 
though  just  a  touch  condescending  ;  after  a  few  words  she 
bore  her  daughter  off,  saying  they  had  to  go  on  to  another 
party.  Peter  left  directly  after. 

It  was  a  fine,  dry  night  in  early  April,  and  he  walked 
leisurely  back  to  his  own  part  of  the  town,  thinking  in  a 
curiously  slow  and  unsuitably  logical  way  of  several  new 
things. 

It  was  said  by  some  who  knew  him  that  Peter  Grimstone 
did  not  know  what  comfort  was  ;  certainly  the  rooms  he  at 
that  time  occupied  suggested  it.  He  had  been  nearly  three 
years  in  town,  but  he  had  done  little  to  soften  the  appear- 
ance of  the  cheap  furnished  apartments  which  were  still  all 
the  home  he  boasted.  Little,  that  is,  except  to  clear  away 
what  of  the  superfluous  he  could. 

"There's  not  a  decent  chair  in  the  place,"  Austin  said, 
when  that  evening,  some  half-hour  before  Peter's  return,  he 
invaded  the  place. 

Austin  was  the  man  who  had  given  Peter  the  card  of 
invitation.  A  card,  by  the  way,  which  he  ought  to  have 
used  himself  since  he  was  an  artist  with  his  way  to  make. 
But  being  young,  and  chockfull  of  theories  of  revolt  and 
other  of  the  golden  froth  of  youth,  he  had  passed  it  on  to 
Peter  as  the  most  unsuitable  person  of  his  acquaintance.  He 
had  known  Peter  on  and  off  for  some  time,  principally  off, 

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DESIRE 

for  though  the  two  of  them  at  one  time  had  something  to  do 
with  the  same  paper,  he  had  never  really  got  to  know  any- 
thing of  him  ;  no  one  did.  Peter  was  in  their  world  but 
not  of  it.  This  naturally  did  not  diminish  Austin's  good- 
natured  contempt  for  him,  rather  increased  it. 

"  He  has  gone  to-night,"  so  Austin  said,  with  amusement, 
"  to  see  what  it  looks  like." 

He  said  this  to  Farmer.  He  had  fallen  in  with  Farmer 
at  the  Circle,  a  small  and  select  club  of  the  apostles  of  the 
Ugly. 

Farmer  showed  little  interest,  he  thought  the  card  ought 
to  have  been  passed  on  to  him.  It  was  his  opinion  that  it 
was  a  clear  waste  that  the  chance  to  meet  those  who  might 
be  useful  should  be  thrown  away  on  a  writer,  and  one  who 
was  not  even  a  member  of  the  Circle,  and  who,  so  far  as  any 
one  knew,  had  no  more  views  on  art  or  literature  or  aesthetic 
revolt  than  a  bricklayer. 

But  Austin  only  laughed.  "  No  waste,"  he  said  ;  "for  he, 
in  going,  will  achieve  what  he  went  for  and  you  wouldn't, 
my  son." 

"  Rot !  "  Farmer  returned. 

"  I  tell  you  he  will,"  Austin  maintained  ;  "  he  will  stand 
in  a  doorway  and  look  round  and  be  satisfied.  I  bet  you  he 
won't  speak  to  a  soul  there,  and  won't  want  to." 

Farmer  did  not  believe  in  the  existence  of  such  a  fool — 
i.e.  a  man  so  unlike  himself.  Eventually  they  made  a  bet  on 
it,  and  it  was  for  the  settlement  of  this  that,  a  while  later, 
they  and  the  fox  terrier,  Paddy,  repaired  to  Grimstone's 
rooms,  there  to  await  his  return.  Paddy,  who  liked  all 
that  appertained  to  Peter,  accommodated  himself  on  a  pile  of 
manuscript.  Farmer,  still  ill-tempered,  stretched  himself  on 
the  knobby  horsehair  sofa,  and  Austin  filled  up  the  time  by 
executing  a  couple  of  rude  and  rapid  sketches  to  adorn  the 


DESIRE 

chimney  piece.     He  had  just  finished  the  second,  and  was 
putting  it  in  its  place,  when  he  heard  Peter  at  the  door. 

"  Ha  !  "  he  said,  turning,  "  here  comes  our  David,  back 
from  the  camp  of  the  Philistines." 

"  Hulloah,"  Peter  said,  without  enthusiasm  ;  "you  here  ? " 

"  Seems  like  it,"  Farmer  answered  gruffly. 

And  Austin  explained.  "We've  come  to  see  how  you 
enjoyed  the  party — if  you  saw  all  you  went  forth  to  see." 

"  Oh  yes,"  Peter  said,  without  attention  ;  his  eye  had 
caught  a  large  brown  paper  parcel,  which  had  not  been  in 
the  room  when  he  left  it  some  hours  earlier.  Its  shape  and 
size  suggested  books,  but  the  sight  of  it  sent  a  thrill  through 
Peter  that  it  is  not  given  to  all  books  to  produce.  Swiftly 
he  looked  away  like  one  who  has  sighted  a  treasure  and  does 
not  want  by  his  own  attention  to  direct  others  to  it,  then  he 
glanced  furtively  at  his  companions.  Neither  showed  the 
least  interest,  if  they  had  observed  the  parcel  at  all  it  was 
clearly  just  a  parcel  to  them.  Peter  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief 
and  wondered  how  soon  he  could  get  rid  of  them. 

Not  immediately  it  seemed.  Farmer  had  not  moved  from 
the  sofa  and  Austin  had  taken  up  a  position  in  the  easiest 
chair  in  the  room. 

"  Well,"  he  said  filling  his  pipe  as  if  he  were  prepared  to 
stay  indefinitely,  "  and  what  did  you  see  ?  All  the  big  Paint 
Pots,  and  all  the  little  ones,  a-swilling  champagne  and  a-sun- 
ning  themselves  in  the  condescending  eye  of  any  plutocrat 
that  would  look  that  way  r  " 

Peter  had  not  noticed  that — "  Though,"  he  said,  "  I  dare 
say  it  was  to  be  seen." 

Austin  looked  across  at  Farmer  and  laughed.  "  He  didn't 
notice  the  leading  lights  of  Art  as  she  is  bought  by  the  great 
B.P.,"  he  said,  "  and  he's  been  among  'em  for  two  blessed 
hours  !  I  told  you  he  was  a  rare,  a  wonderful  creature." 

9 


DESIRE 

Farmer  did  not  answer,  and  Peter  moved  restlessly  to  the 
chimney  piece  and  took  up  the  sketches. 

"  These  yours  ?  "  he  said,  and  stood  looking  at  them 
without  seeing  them. 

Austin  took  them  from  him.  "Go  on,"  he  said  ;"what 
did  you  see,  since  you  overlooked  all  our  distinguished 
confreres  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  know — lots  of  people,  all  sorts,  not  all  painting 
ones." 

He  crossed  the  room,  he  wanted  to  be  nearer  the  parcel, 
to  be  sure  that  he  had  made  no  mistake  about  it,  but  he  was 
afraid  to  go  right  up  to  it  for  fear  of  arousing  their  attention, 
so  he  stopped  by  Paddy  and  turned  him  off  the  manuscript. 
The  dog,  who  loved  him  for  some  dog  hero  qualities  unknown 
to  men,  appreciated  the  act  as  an  attention. 

"  It's  odd,"  Peter  said — it  seemed  he  had  got  to  make 
conversation  of  some  sort  or  they  would  see  the  matter  in 
his  mind — "  it's  odd,  but  it  never  struck  me  till  to-night 
there's  something  attractive  about  the  people  who  don't 
work,  and  can't  work,  and  haven't  worked  for  generations — 
don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

He  stooped  to  Paddy  who  lay  on  his  back  with  his  feet 
in  the  air  to  court  further  attention.  "You  look  better 
right  way  up,"  he  said,  while  Austin  laughed. 

"  Hear,  my  Farmer  !  "  he  said  ;  "  hear  him  !  Our 
Puritan  penman,  our  Nonconformist  conscience,  our 
Industrious  Apprentice,  has  been  caught  by  the  glamour  of 
the  Idle  Rich  !  What,  think  you,  would  have  become  of 
you  if  I  had  not  saved  your  artistic  soul  by  not  putting 
temptation  in  your  way  ? " 

Farmer  apparently  did  not  think  favourably.  "  Oh,  dry 
up  !  "  was  his  answer.  At  the  same  time  he  brought  his 
legs  to  the  ground  and  took  up  a  sitting  posture  on  the 

10 


DESIRE 

uneasy   sora.       "  Did  you   see    any   one  there  you    knew, 
Grimstone  r "    he  asked. 

Peter  had  not. 

"And  you  did  not  make  the  acquaintance  of  any  one 
either  ?  "  Austin  suggested.  "  You  didn't  speak  to  any  one  r  " 

"  A  man  spoke  to  me "     Peter  began,  when  he  was 

interrupted  by  an  exclamation  of — "  Pay  up  !  "  from  Farmer, 
and  an  eager  disclaimer  from  Austin. 

"  Doesn't  count  !  "  the  latter  said,  "  Ruled  out — speaking 
and  spoken  to  are  not  the  same — one  can't  help  being  spoken 
to,  you  know,  if  one  is  young  and  charming." 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  Oh,  it's  just  a  bet,"  Austin  answered,  while  Farmer 
said — 

"  We  want  to  know  what  you  did,  whether  any  one  spoke 
to  you  or  you  spoke  to  any  one,  or  what." 

Peter,  seeing  that  it  was  his  only  hope  of  getting  rid  of 
them,  told  them  what  had  occurred,  down  to  and  including 
his  introduction  to  Miss  Quebell.  This  last  Farmer  held  to 
decide  the  case  in  his  favour,  and  Austin  could  not  contend 
it  ;  indeed,  he  did  not  try,  he  was  too  much  taken  up  with 
the  occurrence  itself. 

"  Who  was  she  r "  he  inquired  ;  "  one  of  the  admired  Idle 
Rich  ?  By  Jove  !  The  daughter  of  Sir  Joseph  (Quebell, 
Financial  Adviser  to  the  Government  !  But  no,  it  couldn't 
be,  you  couldn't  have  got  in  with  that  lot  !  " 

Peter  did  not  know,  and  it  is  to  be  feared  he  did  not  care  : 
"  She  spoke  of  her  father,"  he  said,  "  as  if  he  were  some  one 
well  known,  and  she  introduced  me  to  a  Lady  Quebell,  her 
mother." 

"  She  did,  did  she  ? "  said  Farmer,  and  grinned  sardoni- 
cally. He  knew  that  Austin  would  be  regretting  the  waste 
of  the  ticket  now  as  heartily  as  ever  he  could. 

ii 


DESIRE 

But  Austin  did  not  heed  him  or  his  grins,  he  was  absorbed 
in  astonishment  at  Peter's  fortune.  "  How  the  devil  you 
managed  it "  he  began. 

"  I  told  you  once,"  Peter  returned  impatiently. 

And  he  had  told  all  he  knew.  It  did  not  even  now  occur 
to  him  that  Bamfield,  having  been  notified  of  Miss  Quebell's 
momentary  interest  in  the  stranger  by  the  door  had  hit  on 
this  simple,  though  unauthorized  way  of  gratifying  her 
passing  desire  to  know  him.  Such  an  explanation  occurred 
neither  to  Peter  nor  yet  to  the  others. 

"  Did  she  find  you  out  ?  "   Farmer  asked. 

"  I  told  her,  of  course,"  Peter  answered. 

And  Austin  was  again  astonished  though  this  time  at 
Peter's  folly  in  thus  throwing  away  such  an  opportunity. 

He  was  even  more  astonished  when  it  appeared  that 
Peter  had  not  by  the  confession  succeeded  in  throwing 
anything  away.  He  had,  it  seemed,  in  spite  of  it  received 
an  invitation  of  sorts. 

"  She  asked  me  to  go  there  next  Sunday,"  he  said  j  "  she, 
they,  her  mother  or  somebody,  has  a  kind  of  at  home  thing 
then,  I  think." 

"  What !  "  Austin  exclaimed. 

Farmer  grinned  more  sardonically  than  ever.  "  Serves 
you  right,"  he  said,  rising.  "  Good-night,  Grimstone  ;  hope 
you'll  enjoy  the  other  party  as  much  as  you  did  this  one." 

"  Good-night  " — Peter  spoke  with  more  enthusiasm  than 
he  had  shown  yet — "  The  party  ?  Oh,  I  don't  think  it  is 
one,  anyhow,  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  go." 

He  turned  away  as  he  spoke.  Farmer  stopped  to  laugh, 
not  at  him  but  at  Austin. 

"  Not  go  !  "  Austin  exclaimed,  and  words  to  express  an 
opinion  on  such  folly  failing  him,  he  swore  at  his  own  ill- 
luck. 

12 


DESIRE 

Farmer,  in  perfectly  restored  good-humour,  took  him  by 
the  arm,  "  Adjourned  till  next  session,"  he  said  ;  "  save  the 
rest  of  the  parliamentary  flow  till  then,"  and  he  drew  him 
out,  pulling  the  door  to  after  him. 

Peter  stood  a  moment  listening  to  their  departing  footsteps, 
he  wanted  to  be  quite  sure  they  were  not  coming  back.  He 
even  went  down-stairs  after  them  and  secured  the  bolts  of  the 
front  door  in  the  way  his  landlady  approved.  Then  he  went 
up  again  and  shut  himself  in.  Carefully  he  took  up  the  parcel, 
turning  it  over  so  that  the  address  side,  on  which  it  had  been 
standing,  showed.  It  was  addressed  to  him  on  a  white,  stuck- 
on  label  where  there  was  printed  "  Books  with  care  "  and  the 
name  of  a  respectable  though  unimportant  firm  of  publishers. 
Books,  yes  it  was  books,  in  a  moment  they  were  unfastened 
— six  copies  of  the  same  thing  ;  six  thickish,  lightly-weighing 
volumes  with  the  publishers'  wrappers  still  on.  Beneath  the 
wrappers  were  ugly  ginger-green  covers,  and  printed  there- 
on in  staring  white  and  unnecessarily  distorted  type — "  The 
Dreamer^  by  Peter  Grimstone." 

His  first  book,  and  he  held  it  in  his  hand  at  last — a  tangible 
thing.  For  long,  very  long,  years  even,  it  had  been  a  thing 
in  his  mind  only  ;  then,  afterwards,  for  long  too,  a  mass  of 
manuscript,  to  him,  perhaps,  the  manuscript  would  always 
most  truly  stand  for  the  concrete  form  of  the  idea.  But 
now,  to-night,  it  had  passed  out  of  the  nebulous  form,  and 
out  of  his  own  personal,  private  form,  into  the  domain  of 
other  men.  It  was  a  book,  a  small  but  substantial  something  ; 
a  thing  which  would  be  bought  and  sold  (perhaps),  would  be 
abused  and  spoken  of  (perhaps) — and  perhaps  forgotten. 

But  he  did  not  think  of  that  to-night.  To-night  it 
contented  him  to  have  written  it,  to  have  got  it  published, 
to  see  it  there  before  him,  to  turn  the  pages  gently,  the 
contents  of  which  he  almost  knew  by  heart.  He  would 

13 


DESIRE 

not,  if  he  could,  have  shared  it  with  the  general  public  that 
night  any  more  than  he  would  have  shared  it  with  Austin 
and  Farmer.  Other  people  had  not  entered  into  his  thoughts 
in  the  making  of  it  ;  he  had  been  alone  in  its  conception, 
alone  in  its  slow  creation,  alone  in  the  wearisome  and 
repeated  efforts  to  secure  its  publication,  he  was  alone  now 
and  it  satisfied  him,  he  was  quite,  quite  happy. 

So  he  sat  for  a  half-hour,  unconscious  of  himself  and  the 
world  and  time,  in  a  quiet,  incommunicable  happiness  not 
quite  like  anything  he  had  known  before  or  perhaps  ever 
knew  afterwards.  But  at  the  end  of  the  half-hour  he 
separated  one  book  from  the  rest,  wrote  in  it,  and  then 
wrapping  it  up  to  go  by  post,  addressed  it  to  his  mother.  He 
had  begun  to  take  other  people  into  account.  His  mother 
would  like  to  have  that  book,  she  would  feel  vaguely  proud 
of  it,  though  books  and  book-making  were  not  much  in  the 
line  of  her  people.  It  is  possible  she  would  not  altogether 
understand  the  contents  if  she  read  it,  but  he  did  not  think 
of  that,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  send  it  to  her  to  read, 
rather  to  have.  She  would  like  to  have  it  because  she  was 
fond  of  him,  though  she  knew  nothing  really  about  him  and 
his  work.  And  he  would  like  her  to  have  it  though  he  had 
never  dreamed  of  seeking  her  sympathy  in  the  long  birth 
struggle  ;  had  they  been  together  now  he  would  hardly  have 
spoken  of  it.  They  were  a  singularly  undemonstrative 
family,  the  Grimstones. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  Quebell  household  was  carried  on  the  lines  of  the 
greatest  possible  liberty  consistent  with  three  people  living 
on  good  terms  under  the  same  roof,  and  maintained  on  the 
same  income.  The  three  members  of  the  family  each  went 
his  or  her  way  almost  as  much  unhampered  by  interference 
from  or  consideration  of  the  other  two  as  if  living  in  an 
hotel.  Some  tact  was  necessary,  of  course,  in  the  matter  of 
inviting  guests,  and  occasionally  arranging  not  to  clash  with 
each  other's  entertainments  and  engagements.  A  certain 
amount  of  sense,  too,  was  demanded  in  keeping  within 
stipulated  bounds  in  money  matters  ;  but  all  three  possessed 
tact  and  sense  in  good  store,  and  the  incomes  were  large. 
The  house  also  was  large:  there  was  no  need  for  people  to 
rub  elbows  in  it  uncomfortably  ;  the  three  members  of  the 
family  did  not  have  to  meet  too  frequently. 

Sir  Joseph,  of  course,  was  immensely  busy  ;  his  official 
capacity  and  private  tastes,  which  lay  in  the  direction  of 
astronomy  and  higher  mathematics,  occupied  most  of  his 
time.  He  had  his  own  circle  of  interests  and  friends ;  the 
last  were  not  entirely  confined  to  the  learned  or  the  official, 
for  he  had  curious  traces  of  some  small  taste  for  the  world, 
the  flesh  and  the  devil,  though  they  were  not  identical  with 
those  of  his  wife  and  daughter.  It  was  seldom  considered 
necessary  that  either  of  them  should  accompany  him,  or  he 
them,  to  a  function,  except  on  the  rare  occasions  when  their 
invitations  lay  the  same  way. 

15 


DESIRE 

Lady  Quebell,  on  the  other  hand,  was  essentially  and 
entirely  of  the  polite  world  :  she  went  where  she  ought  to 
go,  did  what  she  ought  to  do,  and  said  what  she  ought  to  say, 
according  to  the  canons  thereof ;  she  was  perhaps  one  of  the 
most  perfect  and  emotionless  supers  that  was  ever  put  on  the 
human  stage.  Though  it  would  be  doing  her  an  injustice 
to  say  she  was  entirely  without  emotions,  she  had  at  least 
one,  though  she  never  spoke  of  it,  and  seldom  gave  it  scope — 
that  was  dislike  for  her  step-daughter,  Desire. 

Her  step-daughter  did  not  dislike  her.  Desire  Quebell 
did  not  dislike  people,  either  she  liked  them  or  she  was 
indifferent  to  them,  she  never  thought  of  condemning  their 
actions  or  taking  offence  at  their  proceedings,  she  merely 
said  she  "  couldn't  do  with  them  "  and  dismissed  them  from 
her  mind.  She  could  not  do  with  her  step-mother  as  a 
friend,  so  she  dismissed  her  from  her  mind,  except  where  it 
was  necessary  to  consult  her  wishes  for  their  mutual  benefit ; 
and  she  never  dreamed  that  she  herself  raised  any  other 
feelings.  They  got  on  well  together,  seeing  just  enough  and 
not  too  much  of  each  other,  and  having  each  their  own  life  ; 
their  interests  and  friends  were  almost  as  separate  from  each 
other  as  both  were  from  those  of  Parker,  the  immaculate 
butler.  Desire  had  no  idea  that  this  very  separateness,  though 
it  was  partly  of  her  step-mother's  tacit  arranging,  was  one 
cause  of  annoyance.  Lady  Quebell,  in  some  way,  felt  her 
prestige  impaired  by  the  younger  woman  holding  a  position 
so  nearly  equal  to,  and  quite  detached  from,  her  own  in 
the  same  house. 

Desire  was  engaged  to  be  married,  the  wedding  was 
to  be  in  the  summer,  the  chosen  man,  a  brilliant  barrister  of 
unimpeachable  connections.  A  few  people  thought  Lady 
Quebell  had  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  engagement, 
but  the  opposite  was  the  more  general  opinion,  founded  on 

16 


DESIRE 

the  fact  that  Desire  usually  did  what  she  pleased  without 
opposition.  If  married  she  must  be — and  it  was  obvious  to 
the  most  casual  observer  that  she  must,  the  only  wonder 
being  that  she  had  contrived  to  evade  the  fate  so  long — if  it 
must  be,  Edward  Gore,  the  selected  man  was  as  suitable  as 
any,  and  for  once  Desire  and  Lady  Quebell  would  seem  to 
have  been  of  the  same  mind  about  a  person. 

He  was  at  present  abroad  ;  a  severe  breakdown  consequent 
upon  overwork  had  necessitated  the  rest  and  change  of  sea- 
voyaging.  He  was  not  expected  back  till  well  on  in  the 
summer,  and  the  wedding,  for  the  convenience  of  fitting  in 
with  other  plans,  was  to  be  soon  after  his  return.  In  the 
meantime  Desire  enjoyed  life  as  she  always  had  done,  and 
the  fact  that  she  was  engaged  to  one  man  did  not  prevent  her 
from  making  friends  with  others.  It  did  not  occur  to  her  to 
question  the  advisability  of  plunging  into  intimacies,  interests 
and  friendships  as  they  presented  themselves — in  this  matter, 
as  in  most  others,  she  had  always  done  as  she  pleased  without 
so  much  as  thinking  about  appearances  or  side  issues.  There 
is  no  doubt  there  was  permitted  to  her  a  somewhat  wider 
margin  than  is  permitted  to  most,  for  she  had — Lady 
Quebell  perceived  it  though  she  herself  did  not — the  gift  of 
success.  No  matter  how  she  outraged  accepted  standards, 
how  old-fashioned,  new-fashioned,  odd,  bizarre,  or  even 
middle-class  her  proceedings  might  be,  they  always  passed 
If  she  elected  to  wear  a  dress  a  year  behind  date  it  was  a 
success,  not  because  of  her  beauty,  which  after  all  was  a  de- 
batable thing,  but  because  of  her  personality.  If  she  elected 
to  go  to  a  not  usually  frequented  place  of  entertainment  with 
an  unheard  of  man,  even  though  she  were  affianced  to  Gore, 
no  one  found  fault  with  it ;  it  was  not  merely  condoned,  it 
was  thought  no  more  of  by  her  world  than  by  herself.  She 
had  assumed  to  herself  most  of  the  liberties  and  privileges  of 
2  17 


DESIRE 

a  married  woman,  and  a  good  many  not  accorded  to  all  such 
— this  with  a  total  unawareness  of  it,  or  of  anything  but 
her  own  momentary  object,  which  Lady  Quebell  at  least 
found  irritating. 

But  among  her  step-daughter's  proceedings  the  most 
annoying  of  all  to  Lady  Quebell  was  her  faculty  for  making 
friends,  or  rather,  perhaps,  it  was  the  friends  themselves. 
Her  circle  undeniably  did  number  some  people,  notably  men, 
who  were  not  to  be  met  with  at  the  houses  frequented  by 
her  ladyship.  She  called  them  "  utterly  impossible,"  but 
they  continued  to  exist  all  the  same  and  not  unfrequently  to 
exist  in  her  company  and  to  be  found  under  her  husband's 
roof.  It  was  because"  of  these  people  that  Lady  Quebell 
instituted  the  arrangement  which  had  done  something 
towards  dividing  the  sovereignty  of  the  household.  On  one 
Sunday,  so  she  had  decreed,  she  was  at  home  to  her  friends  ; 
on  the  next,  Desire  was  at  home  to  hers,  who  were  not, 
except  under  special  circumstances,  to  be  otherwise  invited 
to  the  drawing-room  to  outrage  the  sensibilities  of  the  more 
select.  And  it  was  not  without  secret  annoyance  that  Lady 
Quebell  found  that  the  select  showed  a  marked  tendency  to 
brave  the  outrage  and  present  themselves  at  the  mixed 
assemblage  on  Desire's  afternoons  quite  as  often  as  they  did 
at  the  more  exclusive  gatherings  on  her  own.  She  herself 
was  often  driven  to  being  present  on  Desire's  afternoons 
because  she  found  it  advantageous  that  the  compliment 
should  be  returned. 

It  was,  of  course,  to  Desire's  afternoon  that  Peter  Grim- 
stone  was  bidden,  and  to  which,  in  spite  of  what  he  had 
said  to  Austin,  he  went.  Desire  expected  him  to  come, 
people  usually  did  when  she  gave  them  the  chance,  though 
she  never  troubled  herself  to  ask  why.  To  tell  the  truth,  she 
did  not  trouble  herself  much  in  any  way  ;  she  greeted  them 

18 


DESIRE 

when  they  arrived  but  did  not  otherwise  concern  herself  with 
them  during  the  visit  unless  she  wanted  to  at  the  minute. 
It  was  Lady  Quebell  who  arranged  bridge-tables,  broke  up 
groups  and  introduced  people — all  of  which  well-meant  pro- 
ceedings could  have  been  dispensed  with  by  the  company 
that  assembled  to  see  Desire.  Every  one  there  felt  at  liberty 
to  do  what  he  liked,  and  most  of  them  would  have  willingly 
bartered  the  rest  of  the  afternoon's  entertainment  for  a  few 
minutes  of  the  exclusive  and  complete  attention  Desire  be- 
stowed on  those  she  was  pleased  to  be  interested  in  for  the 
moment. 

On  the  afternoon  when  Peter  came  she  was  pleased  to 
bestow  this  attention  on  him,  an  unusually  large  share  of  it, 
for  she  had  heard  something  about  him. 

"  So,"  she  said,  without  preliminaries,  "  when,  the  other 
night,  you  allowed  me  to  hold  forth  on  the  chances  of  your 
developing  into  a  novelist,  you  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
tell  me  you  already  were  one." 

Peter  flushed.  "  I  was  not  one  then,  exactly,"  he 
said. 

"  But  I  have  heard  of  your  book  this  afternoon." 

He  wondered  how,  and  still  more,  what  she  had  heard. 
"  But,"  he  explained,  <c  it  was  not  published  then  when  I  met 
you,  at  least  I  thought  not ;  I  found  my  copies  when  I  got 
back  that  night." 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said.     "  And  it  is  your  first  book  ?  " 

Ready  sympathy,  deceptively  easily  aroused  in  her,  shone 
in  her  eyes  as  he  acknowledged  that  it  was  the  first.  "  How 
splendid,"  she  said,  "  to  see  it  for  the  first  time  ! " 

It  had  been  splendid  with  a  quiet,  inward  radiance,  but  it 
was  astonishing  to  Peter  that  any  one  else  should  know. 

"  How  did  you  hear  of  the  book  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Evans  told  me ;  he  was  here  this  afternoon  but  left 


DESIRE 

early — before  you  came — rather  a  pity.  Do  you  know 
him  ?  " 

Peter  did  not,  and  she  went  on  to  explain  that  Evans  had 
the  book  to  review  but  had  not  done  so  yet. 

"  Your  name  turned  up  in  talk,"  she  said,  "  and  he 
remembered  it  in  connection  with  a  book,  and  as  soon  as  he 
said  so  I  knew  I  had  been  giving  myself  away  when  I  talked 
to  you  about  writing  and  so  on  the  other  night." 

Peter  assured  her  she  had  not  done  anything  of  the  sort ;  he 
had  recovered  from  the  first  pleasure  and  surprise  at  her  ready 
sympathy,  it  was,  he  saw,  what  she  had  for  every  passing 
interest:  he  was  extraordinarily  ignorant  to  have  momentarily 
felt  it  personal.  Nevertheless  there  was  something  very 
pleasant  in  talking  and  having  her  talk  about  the  book  ;  he 
had  never  spoken  of  it  to  any  one  before,  and  he  had  never 
wanted  to,  but  he  liked  it  now.  Not  that  he  said  much, 
nothing  about  the  tale  or  the  struggle  of  production  and 
publication,  nothing  really  of  the  inside  of  things,  just  a 
few  words  such  as  might  have  been  said  to  any  one — though 
he  had  never  said  them. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  with  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

He  was  not,  few  artists,  whether  their  medium  is  wood, 
iron,  paint  or  ink,  are  satisfied  with  their  creations. 

"  I  expect  you  are  not  the  best  judge,"  she  said.  "  Are 
the  people  who  matter,  whose  opinion  is  worth  having, 
satisfied  ? " 

u  I  don't  know,"  he  answered ;  "  I  have  not  seen  many 
reviews  yet." 

"  Oh,  reviews  !  "  she  said.  "  I  did  not  mean  that,  that  is 
only  an  outside  judgment,  important,  of  course,  but  different ; 
I  mean  the  people  you  care  about — what  do  they  think  ? " 

The  people  Peter  cared  about  were  an  extremely  small 
band  and  totally  unlikely  to  be  satisfied  or  dissatisfied  with  a 

20 


DESIRE 

novel  of  his  composition.     He  did  not  say  this  but  Miss 
Quebell  probably  divined  some  part  of  it. 

"  Your  own  people  are  not  literary  ?  "  she  suggested. 
"  Though  after  all  I  don't  know  that  that  is  what  matters, 
one's  own  people  would  hardly  judge  one's  work  by  literary 
standards :  one  would  not  want  them  too,  exactly ;  one 
would  want  them  to  like  it,  to  care." 

Peter  nodded.  "  My  mother  is  very  pleased,"  he  said 
simply  ;  "  I  don't  know  that  she  will  even  read  the  book, 
but  she  is  pleased  that  I  have  written  it.  She  takes  great 
care  of  it ;  she  carries  it  up  to  her  room  every  night  for  fear 
that  any  harm  should  happen  to  it." 

Miss  Quebell  looked  down  a  moment ;  there  may  have 
been  mirth  in  her  eyes  but  there  was  also  softness  too. 
"How  sweet  of  her  !"  she  said.  "I  think  your  mother 
must  be  a  dear." 

She  had  been  wearing  two  large  round  bunches  of  carna- 
tions that  afternoon,  as  she  spoke  one  tumbled  out  ;  it  had 
been  tumbling  out  and  being  replaced  all  the  afternoon  ; 
there  really  was  not  room  for  both  bunches,  but  no  doubt 
both  had  been  given  her  and  she  was  anxious  to  be  fair  to 
both  donors.  Carnations,  it  would  seem,  were  her  favourite 
flower  ;  when  Peter  saw  her  before  she  had  them,  and  there 
was  besides  about  her  and  her  hair  and  clothes  a  subtle 
fragrance  of  the  flowers  which  to  the  initiated  suggested  the 
possession  of  a  fine  essence  or  oil  of  them.  For  Peter  the 
scent  had  pleasant  memories,  some  of  the  few  idle,  sunny 
memories  of  his  somewhat  hard  youth.  Inevitably  it  made 
him  think  of  a  quiet,  sunny  place,  and  a  feeling  of  having 
escaped  and  being  alone,  at  leisure  and  secure.  It  seemed 
odd  to  meet  with  the  fragrance  here  in  this  London  drawing- 
room,  yet  in  a  way  it  was  attractive,  perhaps  made  part  of 
the  woman's  attraction. 

21 


DESIRE 

When  the  flowers  fell  out  of  her  breast  as  she  talked  to 
him  he  stooped  to  pick  them  up,  they  had  become  unfastened 
this  time  and  some  fell  on  her  knee  and  some  on  the 
floor.  As  he  gathered  up  the  one  or  two  on  the  floor  their 
bruised  sweetness  brought  the  garden  of  his  recollection,  and 
the  afternoon  when  he  escaped  there,  very  vividly  before 
him. 

"  Do  you  like  them  ?  "  Desire's  voice  inquiring  almost 
startled  him. 

"  Very  much,"  he  answered. 

Her  keen,  changing  eyes  were  on  his  face,  with  something 
of  pity  in  them,  she  had  suddenly  divined  that  here  was  a 
bareness  and  loneliness  very  unlike  her  own  lot.  "  Keep 
them,"  she  said  ;  "  keep  those.  I  don't  want  them." 

She  spoke  as  impulsively  as  she  would  have  spoken  to  any 
child  in  the  street  who  had  covetously  admired  her  flowers, 
and  Peter  accepted  the  gift  in  the  same  spirit  ;  without  any 
other  thought  about  it.  But  there  was  one  looking  on  who 
could  not  view  it  in  precisely  that  light ;  that  one  was  Lady 
Quebell. 

Usually  she  did  not  interfere  in  her  step-daughter's  friends 
and  acquaintances,  and  offered  no  comments  on  her  pro- 
ceedings, however  she  might  disapprove  of  them.  That  day 
she  made  an  exception,  and  when  the  last  visitor  was  gone, 
and  she  and  Desire  were  alone  for  half-an-hour,  she  asked 
who  Peter  was. 

"  His  name  is  Grimstone,"  Desire  answered  j  "  he  is  a 
novelist." 

Lady  Quebell  did  not  feel  herself  enlightened.  "  Who 
introduced  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Mr.  Bamfield,"  Desire  answered. 

She  did  not,  under  the  circumstances,  feel  it  necessary  to 
explain  the  mistake  there  had  been,  and  Lady  Quebell  did 

22 


DESIRE 

not  push  the  point  further,  contenting  herself  with  asking 
the  extent  of  Desire's  acquaintance  with  him. 

Desire  did  not  reckon  acquaintanceship  by  hours ;  with 
some  people,  she  held,  one  might  pass  half  a  life  and  get  no 
more  forward,  with  others  ten  minutes'  chance  interview 
made  a  friendship.  Peter,  no  doubt,  came  somewhere  between 
these  two. 

But  Lady  Quebell  did  not  hold  these  views,  and  she  took 
the  trouble  on  this  occasion  to  tell  Desire  how  the  gift  of 
flowers  to  an  almost  stranger  might  strike  the  ordinary 
observer. 

Desire,  far  from  being  annoyed  or  disconcerted,  listened 
with  attention.  "  How  interesting  !  "  she  said.  "  Does  it 
really  strike  you  like  that  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  her  step-mother  answered  ;  "  and  in  all  probability 
it  struck  him  in  the  same  '  interesting '  way.  Really,  one 
could  hardly  blame  him,  whoever  he  is,  if  he  presumed  to 
think  you  meant  something  by  it." 

"  I  did,"  Desire  answered  cheerfully  :  "  I  meant  that  I 
wanted  him  to  have  the  flowers  because  he  wanted  them, 
and  I  haven't  the  least  doubt  he  grasped  that  meaning." 

"  I  have  considerable  doubt,"  Lady  Quebell  retorted  ;  "  it 
is  about  the  last  interpretation  he  would  be  likely  to  put  on 
the  act,  seeing  what  other  ones  are  open  to  him." 

"  That  is  where  you  are  so  clever,"  Desire  said,  with 
admiration  ;  "  you  always  know  all  the  interpretations  and 
intentions,  and  so  on  ;  I  never  see  any  but  my  own." 

"  It  might  perhaps  be  better  if  you  did  sometimes,"  the 
elder  woman  observed. 

The  younger  one  nodded.  "  But  I'm  afraid  it  would  bore 
me  rather,"  she  said.  "  I  should  never  be  able  to  decide  what 
to  do  if  I  had  to  think  all  that  way  round  first." 

Apparently  this  did  not  seem  to  Lady  Quebell  an  entirely 

23 


DESIRE 

undesirable  result,  but  it  was  useless  to  say  it,  so  she  refrained, 
and  merely  remarked,  "  Of  course  you  have  no  idea  who 
the  person  is  ? " 

"  Mr.  Grimstone,"  Desire  said,  moving  to  pick  up  some 
gloves  left  by  a  visitor  ;  "  I  told  you.  Oh,  you  mean,  who 
his  people  are  ?  No,  I  don't  know,  but  I'll  ask  him  if  you 
like,  or  you  can  if  you  prefer  it,  some  time  when  he  is  here  ; 
he  will  be  coming  again  soon,  I  expect." 

"So  do  I." 

Lady  Quebell's  accurately  inflected  voice  had  an  unusual 
note  of  meaning,  and  as  she  watched  the  younger  woman's 
unconscious  back  the  one  emotion  of  her  life  showed  for  a 
moment  in  her  eyes  and  in  her  compressed  lips. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  she  said,  "  that  he  will  come — come 
continually — that  you  will  go  with  him  to  all  manner  of 
impossible  places  and  do  all  manner  of  impossible  things  and 
generally  make  yourself  conspicuous,  until  you  meet  some 
other  man  who  '  interests '  you.  Then  this  one  will  be 
dropped,  and  the  other,  whoever  he  is,  will  be  treated  to  the 
same  process." 

Desire  turned  round.  "  What  do  you  mean  ? "  she 
asked. 

The  expression  which  might  have  interpreted  Lady 
Quebell's  words  was  gone  from  her  face.  "  Nothing,"  she 
said,  "  except  that  I  am  quite  well  aware  that  this  Mr. 
Grimstone  is  your  latest  c  interest,'  or  one  of  them.  Of  course 
I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it,  only  I  think  it  is  rather  a 
pity  you  should  give  him  flowers  quite  so  publicly." 

She  moved  towards  the  door  as  she  spoke,  but  Desire 
stood  looking  at  her  with  surprised  eyes  :  "  Is  that  how  I 
look  to  you — to  other  people  ? "  she  asked  in  a  somewhat 
shocked  voice. 

Lady  Quebell  stopped.  "  Yes,"  she  said  ;  "  I  think  it  is 

24 


DESIRE 

how  most  people  regard  your  somewhat  peculiar  friendships 
and  proceedings." 

"  But  it  is  not  true  !  "  Desire  protested.  "  It  is  not  correct. 
I  like  men  that  interest  me,  that's  true,  and  I  don't  care  who 
their  fathers  are.  What  on  earth  does  that  matter  ?  It  is 
they,  not  their  fathers,  I  want  to  know.  And  of  course  if  I 
like  them  I  see  as  much  of  them  as  I  can,  it  would  be  idiotic 
not  to.  But  as  for  dropping  people — I  have  never  done 
such  a  thing.  Sometimes  I  am  a  little  disappointed  in  them, 
perhaps,  though  even  then  they  usually  turn  out  to  be  nice 
in  other  ways  ;  certainly  I  have  never  dropped  any  one." 

"  No,"  Lady  Quebell  admitted,  and  for  an  instant  there 
was  a  flicker  of  the  emotion  again  in  her  tone, "  that  is  true, 
for  they  will  not  be  dropped.  Men  continue  to  come  about 
you  long  after  they  have  ceased  to  have  a  shadow  of  interest 
for  you  ;  they  have  not  the  pride — or  the  sense — to  go  when 
their  time  is  up — but  what  better  are  they  for  that  ?  For 
the  rest — what  you  say  is  only  another  way  of  stating  what 
I  say.  No  doubt  you  can  manage  to  see  it  like  that  your- 
self, but  you  must  not  be  surprised  that  no  one  else  does, 
including  the  people  you  are  *  interested '  in." 

"  Oh  !  "  Desire  said  ;  and  then,  "  Do  you  really  think 
so  ?"  The  idea  was  evidently  both  new  and  painful.  There 
are  distinct  disadvantages  in  being  so  engrossed  in  living  as 
to  be  completely  unable  to  see  even  a  glimpse  of  your  life 
and  actions  as  others  see  them.  It  is  such  a  shock  when 
chance  gives  you  a  passing  revelation,  though  it  cannot  be 
expected  that  the  revelation,  unless  it  is  very  carefully 
handled,  will  make  a  lasting  impression  on  such  a  nature. 
Lady  Quebell  did  not  comprehend  the  nature ;  and  she  did 
not  know  how  to  handle  her  opportunity. 

"  You  know,"  she  said  more  pleasantly,  u  I  never  inter- 
fere in  any  of  your  proceedings,  or  with  any  of  your  friends, 

25 


DESIRE 

no  matter  what  my  private  judgment  may  be.  I  certainly 
have  no  wish  to  do  so  now,  I  only  wanted  to  point  out  that 
you  do  yourself  a  good  deal  of  harm  by  these  things." 

A  look  of  immense  relief  swept  over  Desire's  face.  "  Is 
that  all  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  thought  you  meant  I  did  the  other 
people  harm — you  don't  think  I  do  ?  I'm  a  sort  of  education, 
perhaps,  for  the  men  I  like  ?  I  really  think  I  may  be.  I'm 
so  glad  !  " 

A  faint  flush,  that  owed  nothing  to  art,  dyed  Lady 
Quebell's  wonderful  complexion  for  a  moment.  "  I  think," 
she  said  rather  tartly,  "  you  are  making  a  fool  of  yourself, 
and  that  you  have  been  doing  it  a  good  many  years.  Your 
reputation,  I  don't  know  if  you  are  aware  of  it,  is  decidedly 
peculiar.  You  are  asked  everywhere,  I  know,  and  accepted 
by  all  men  and  most  women — for  the  sake  of  the  men  ;  but 
for  all  that  people  shrug  their  shoulders  at  your  doings,  and 
don't  forget  them.  There  are  several  persons  waiting  to  see 
what  will  happen  when  Edward  comes  home." 

"  What'll  happen  ?  Why,  they'll  dance  at  my  wedding. 
Wouldn't  it  be  delicious  to  see  some  of  the  dear  creatures 
doing  it  r " 

Desire  laughed  her  rich,  full  laugh  at  the  vision  she  con- 
jured up,  but  Lady  Quebell  opened  the  door  sharply.  "  I 
think,"  she  said  as  she  went  out,  "  it  is  possible  Edward  may 
have  something  to  say." 

"  About  my  friends  ?     What  business  is  it  of  his  ?  " 

Desire  put  the  question,  but  the  door  was  shut  before  she 
could  get  an  answer.  Not  that  it  mattered,  she  was  quite 
sure  Gore  would  not  say  anything  on  so  absurd  a  subject  ; 
her  friends  were  no  more  his  business,  in  her  eyes,  than  her 
clothes  were.  Poor  little  step-mother,  she  had  lots  of  quaint 
ideas  !  Some  uncomfortable  ones  to  possess,  as,  for  instance, 
an  inability  to  go  anywhere  east  of  a  given  point,  or  make 

26 


DESIRE 

acquaintance  with  any  one  without  a  given  number  of 
quarterings  in  their  coat  of  arms — or  figures  in  their  income. 
Desire  dismissed  her  with  a  tolerant  sigh. 

But  though  she  was  quite  happy  again  about  her  own 
proceedings,  there  came  back  to  her  a  momentary  uneasiness. 
That  sudden  vision  of  herself  as  she  appeared  to  her  step- 
mother, and,  presumably,  some  other  people,  was  not  pleasant ; 
if  they  really  thought  like  that  they  must  have  some  grounds, 
no  matter  how  inadequate,  for  their  opinion.  She  meditated 
on  the  subject  while  her  maid  arranged  her  hair  that  evening. 
Mentally  she  passed  in  review  the  people  in  whom  she  had 
been  interested,  a  long  list,  principally  men,  and  what  few 
women  there  were  could  be  left  out,  they  were  not  in  her 
step-mother's  charge.  Some  of  the  men,  it  is  true,  had  made 
the  mistake  of  falling  in  love  with  her  ;  some,  in  spite  of  her 
skill,  had  precipitately  proposed,  this,  of  course,  before  she 
had  fixed  the  guard  of  her  engagement  ;  but  it  had  come  all 
right,  they  were  still  her  friends,  the  incident,  in  most  cases, 
practically  forgotten.  A  few  of  them  had  married  other 
women  ;  she  had  been  very  interested  in  the  event  always, 
and  was  still  as  good  friends  with  them  as  ever.  With 
their  wives,  too,  when  they  would  allow  it,  though  she  was 
obliged  to  own  to  herself  the  wives  had  a  tendency  to  keep 
her  on  rather  distant  terms. 

She  looked  up  at  this  juncture,  and  saw  her  maid's  face 
reflected  above  her  own.  "  Barton,"  she  said,  "  do  you 
think  I  flirt  ?  " 

The  terms  on  which  she  was  with  servants  and  shop 
people  was  one  of  the  things  her  step-mother  resented,  and 
as  she  carefully  refrained  from  mentioning  it  the  offender 
was  quite  ignorant  that  she  gave  offence,  or,  indeed,  that  she 
was  on  terms  at  all  different  from  the  usual.  Barton,  of 
course,  was  quite  used  to  her,  though  she  could  still  be  a 

27 


DESIRE 

little  startled  on  occasions.  To  the  present  question,  how- 
ever, she  was  able  to  answer  at  once. 

"  Why,  no,  miss  ;  certainly  not." 

"  You  think  not  ? "  Desire  took  a  hand-mirror  and 
examined  her  back  hair.  "  I  wonder  if  you  know,"  she 
said. 

"  There  isn't  much  that  goes  on,  miss,  that  we  don't 
hear,"  Barton  observed. 

Desire  thought  it  possible.  "  Some  people  seem  to  think 
I  do,"  she  remarked,  still  looking  in  the  mirror. 

"  Of  course,"  Barton  said,  with  satisfaction,  "  some  ladies 
always  will  be  jealous." 

"  Jealous  of  me  ? "  Desire  put  down  the  glass.  "  That's 
absurd,  Barton  !  Now  you  are  talking  of  what  you  don't 
understand.  No  one's  jealous  of  me  ;  why  should  they 
be  ?  " 

Barton  hesitated,  she  knew  her  mistress,  whatever  her 
faults,  was  sincere.  "  Well,  you  see,  miss,"  she  said 
apologetically,  "  it's  not  your  fault,  you  can't  help  the 
gentlemen  preferring  you." 

"  They  don't,"  Desire  said  ;  "  you  think  they  do  ?  Then 
that's  where  you  are  mistaken.  They  may  like  me  j  one 
may  like  fifty  people  and  still  have  room  to  like  the  fifty- 
first.  That's  not  what  you  mean,  I  suppose  ?  You  think 
I  take  other  women's  men  ?  Well,  I  don't,  and  I  never 
would." 

"  No,  miss,"  Barton  answered  submissively,  and  took  up 
a  fluffy  petticoat. 

A  little  later,  her  toilet  being  finished,  Desire  dismissed 
the  girl,  and,  having  a  few  minutes  to  spare,  sat  down  to 
think  out  this  new  aspect.  Barton,  of  course,  was  a  fool  and 
had  a  fool's  estimate  of  the  value  of  admiration,  but  still  she 
possibly  reflected  some  other  people's  point  of  view.  At  all 

28 


DESIRE 

events,  one  thing  at  least  was  clear,  she  herself  obviously 
ought  to  be  more  careful  what  she  did  and  how  she  did  it. 
With  that  thought  came  also  the  thought  of  the  carnations 
she  had  given  to  Peter  Grimstone  ;  and  quickly  after  came 
impatience  with  the  whole  thing  and  the  nonsensical  view 
taken  of  the  trivial  affair.  It  would  never  occur  to  him — 
she  laughed  at  the  bare  idea,  and  at  the  recollection  of  his 
grave,  almost  absurdly  young  face.  He  admired  the  flowers 
because  they  reminded  him  of  something  pleasant — perhaps 
his  mother.  Her  eyes  grew  half  soft,  half  mirthful  again  at 
the  thought.  Surely  no  one  could  be  jealous  of  her  with 
him  !  And  no  one  could  accuse  her  of  flirting  with  any  one 
so  completely  unresponsive,  so  reserved  and  uncommunica- 
tive. That  was  one  of  the  reasons  why  he  interested  her  ; 
another  was  that  she  felt  him  sincere,  and  also  found  him 
unlike  any  one  else  she  had  come  across.  But  perhaps  she 
had  better  have  no  more  to  do  with  him,  her  step-mother's 
judgment  might  be  other  people's ;  perhaps,  too,  he  would 
not  understand,  he  did  not  know  her  and  her  ways,  he 

might It  was  not  in  the  least  likely,  but  she  did  not 

want  to  hurt  him. 

But  on  Monday,  Evans,  the  critic,  who  by  chance  had 
The  Dreamer  to  review,  sent  his  copy  of  that  book  for  Miss 
Quebell's  acceptance. 

c<  It  may  amuse  you  if  you  know  the  author,"  he  wrote. 
"  It  isn't  bad,  a  bit  amateurish,  but  rather  out  of  the 
ruck." 

She  found  book  and  note  when  she  came  in  from  a  dinner- 
party on  Monday  evening.  Being  tired,  she  had  declined  to 
go  on  to  another  party  (which  she  expected  to  be  dull)  with 
Lady  Quebell,  and  so  was  in  comparatively  early.  She  took 
the  book  up  to  her  room  with  her,  and,  when  she  was 
undressed,  curled  herself  up  on  the  bed  with  it. 

29 


DESIRE 

None  of  the  reviewers  seemed  to  have  found  The  Dreamer 
a  remarkable  book,  but  to  Desire  it  was  remarkable.  It 
must,  of  course,  be  remembered  that  she  read  books  as  she 
made  acquaintance  with  people,  enthusiastically,  almost 
gluttonously,  losing  herself  completely  for  the  time  being, 
and  wringing  out  the  uttermost.  To  her  The  Dreamer  was 
wonderful.  The  date  and  setting  of  the  story  was  the  end 
of  the  Middle  Ages,  the  environment  largely  monastic  ;  it 
dealt  almost  entirely  with  simple  primitive  things  and 
emotions,  and  its  outlook  was  somehow  the  pure,  remote, 
idealizing  outlook  of  solitary  youth.  There  were  some 
adventures  in  it,  of  course,  and  they  were  vividly  depicted, 
but  for  all  that  they  were  remote,  as  if  subsisting  in  an 
atmosphere  of  their  own.  There  was  romance  in  it,  delicate 
romance,  shyly  hinted  rather  than  plainly  expressed,  and 
that,  too,  was  seen  clearly,  yet  in  this  pellucid  dream 
atmosphere.  And  underlying  all  was  a  substructure  of 
truth,  not  a  moral  purpose,  but  an  unconscious  according 
with  the  laws  of  eternal  rectitude,  such  as  one  finds  in  the 
simple  tales  of  simple  people  and  in  much  of  the  work  of 
the  great  masters.  Desire  knew  nothing  about  this  ;  nor  yet 
whether  the  details  of  the  book  were  accurate  to  date,  or 
whether  the  curious,  remote,  youthful  outlook  reproduced 
the  far-off  time  or  not.  She  only  knew  that  a  whole  new 
aspect  of  life,  a  new  world,  swam  before  her  in  a  translucent 
dawn  haze  ;  perfectly  real,  and  yet  perfectly  remote  from 
the  world  of  lunch  and  dinner,  bridge  and  race  and  ball, 
movement  and  amusement  which  was  hers. 

The  last  late  wayfarer  passed,  the  last  belated  carriage 
rolled  home  ;  the  pulsing  silence,  the  nearest  London  can 
do  to  quiet,  fell.  And  before  it  had  fairly  fallen  the  early 
grey  of  dawn  had  come.  Still  Desire  read,  among  her  lace- 
edged  pillows.  The  dawn  light  spread.  It  had  spread  wide 

3° 


DESIRE 

and  been  streaked  with  gold  from  the  rising  sun  before  she 
finished,  and,  looking  out,  saw  the  distant  spires  and  house- 
tops, remote  and  glorified  in  the  pure  light — as  was  the 
world  of  which  this  writer  spoke.  She  went  to  the  window, 
a  yearning,  that  was  almost  tears,  in  her  eyes,  an  unformed 
yearning,  though  it  is  impossible  to  say  for  what,  in  her  soul. 
For  a  minute  she  stood  looking  out,  then  she  turned  away, 
and  sitting  down  at  the  writing-table,  wrote  — 

"  /  have  read  your  book.     I  cannot  tell  you  what  it  has  been  to 
me.      Words  are  poor  things — to  me — though  clearly  not  to  you. 
"  I  feel  as  though  my  soul  had  been  washed  in  the  dawn. 
"It  is  just  wonderful,  a  revelation" 

So  she  wrote,  and,  signing  her  name,  slipped  the  paper  in 
an  envelope  and  addressed  it  to  Peter  at  the  publishers' — she 
knew  no  other  address.  She  left  the  letter  lying  on  the 
writing-table  and  got  into  bed,  tucked  The  Dreamer  under 
the  bolster,  and  went  to  sleep.  She  slept  till  a  late  hour 
in  the  morning,  in  fact,  till  Barton  woke  her  to  remind 
her  of  an  appointment  with  the  dressmaker. 

"  Telephone  to  her  that  I  can't  come,"  she  murmured 
sleepily. 

But  Barton  did  not  go  to  carry  out  the  order,  instead  she 
said  something  about  a  near  function  for  which  the  dress 
was  ordered. 

"  Oh,  bother  !  "  Desire  said,  then,  with  relaxing  energy, 
"  I  can  wear  something  else." 

"  Not  very  well,  miss,  if  you  remember." 

Desire  sat  up,  laughing.  "  Barton,"  she  said,  "  the  County 
Council  ought  to  engage  you  as  public  conscience.  I'd  give 
you  a  certificate.  If  it  were  at  all  possible  to  inspire  me 
with  a  glimmering  sense  of  obligation  and  the  necessity  of 
keeping  engagements  you  would  do  it." 

31 


DESIRE 

She  leaned  one  elbow  on  the  bolster  as  she  spoke,  and  felt 
the  hardness  of  The  Dreamer  through. 

"  Oh,  the  book  !  "  she  said,  feeling  to  find  what  it  was. 
She  glanced  towards  the  writing-table,  suddenly  remember- 
ing the  letter  written  in  the  dawn.  It  was  gone,  Barton 
had  taken  it,  and  another  written  last  night,  some  time  ago, 
by  now  it  was  posted.  For  a  moment  there  crossed  Desire's 
mind  a  doubt,  almost  a  regret — a  very  unusual  thing  to 
trouble  her  in  connection  with  any  of  her  actions.  It 
perhaps  would  have  been  better  if  the  letter  had  not  gone ; 
she  had  meant  to  leave  the  man  alone  and  not  follow  up  the 
interest  she  had  felt  in  him.  How  well-founded,  too,  that 
interest  had  been  !  She  felt  pleased  to  find  how  right  she 
was,  very  pleased  that  he,  unlike  some  of  her  previous 
ventures,  had  surprised  her  on  the  right  side  and  not  the 
wrong.  Next  moment  she  put  the  whole  thing  from  her, 
the  letter  could  not  be  recalled,  regretting  it  would  not  undo 
it,  and  after  all — 

"If  one  meets  anything  astonishing,  wonderful,  why 
should  not  one  mention  the  fact  ? " 

She  put  the  question,  a  propos  of  nothing,  to  Barton,  who 
answered — 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  miss." 


32 


CHAPTER  III 

"  THE  ways  of  fortune  are  past  my  following  !  It  isn't 
as  if  the  fellow  had  anything  to  commend  himself;  there's 
no  more  reason  for  it  in  him  than  in  his  book,  which  hasn't 
even  the  recommendation  of  indecency." 

Thus  Austin,  holding  forth  one  Saturday  in  the  room  he 
was  pleased  to  call  his  studio.  Farmer,  his  only  listener, 
grunted  in  reply,  for  the  subject  of  remark  was  Peter  Grim- 
stone  and  the  fortune  which  had  befallen  him — a  subject  on 
which,  seeing  that  it  could  practically  be  dated  from  the 
soiree,  Farmer  was  a  little  sore. 

Farmer  and  Austin  had  been  puzzled  by  the  measure  of 
success  which  had  attended  The  Dreamer,  now  published 
some  little  time.  They  were,  it  must  be  admitted,  inclined 
to  rate  the  success  a  good  deal  higher  than  did  Peter,  who 
had  no  erroneous  ideas  about  the  value  of  newspaper  para- 
graphs, and  who  knew  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of  differ- 
ence between  the  commendation  of  the  initiated  and  the 
approval  of  (and  purchase  by)  the  hundred  thousand  others. 
He  thought  that  some  people  liked  The  Dreamer,  and  he  was 
pleased.  They  considered  that  he  had  achieved  fame.  The 
book  had  been  received  very  moderately  at  first,  there  was 
nothing  in  it  to  create  a  stir  and  it  had  created  none,  being 
reviewed  with  moderation  and  praised  and  blamed  with 
moderation.  One  exuberant  young  critic  had  spoken  of  it 
as  a  work  of  genius,  and  referred  to  the  remote  setting  as  a 
master  stroke.  Another  had  condemned  that  same  remote- 
ness, advising  the  author  to  confine  himself  to  dramas  of  to- 

3  33 


DESIRE 

day  and  a  strenuous  present  which  alone  was  worthy  to 
interest  the  modern  mind.  It  was  this  last  man  who  really 
did  Peter  a  service,  for  it  was  he  who  sent  him  to  the 
Quebells'  that  Sunday  afternoon.  Not  that  Peter  expected 
to  find  those,  to  him,  unknown  quantities  "dramas  of  to-day" 
or  "  the  strenuous  present "  there  ;  but  he  thought  that  at 
least  he  might  see  the  outside  of  a  phase  of  life  otherwise 
beyond  his  reach.  So  he  went — and  learnt  nothing,  which 
is  not  surprising  seeing  that  he  had  already  lived  and  worked 
three  years  in  London  and  neither  gained  nor  lost  a  real 
point  thereby.  But  by  going  he  did  one  thing  well  worth 
while,  he  secured  Desire  Quebell  as  a  friend  for  The  Dreamer. 
It  was  Desire  who  gave  the  book  what  vogue  it  had.  She 
admired  it  enthusiastically,  and  she  spoke  of  it  enthusiastically, 
making  it  the  fashion  in  the  circles  she  touched,  securing 
for  it  a  public  of  sorts — not  a  very  big  one,  of  course,  but 
one  that  made  a  good  deal  of  noise  for  its  size.  She  spoke  of 
it  to  what  editors  and  writing-men  she  knew,  and  they — 
like  most  men  acquainted  with  her — being  anxious  to  please 
her,  pushed  it  to  the  best  of  their  ability.  She  also  herself 
did  what  she  could  to  push  Peter,  introducing  him  to  useful 
people  and  taking  him  to  suitable  places.  This  in  her  head- 
long way,  for  having  once  broken  through  her  new  resolution 
by  writing  to  him  about  The  Dreamer  she  did  the  rest  as 
thoroughly  and  completely  as  the  peculiarities  of  Peter  would 
allow. 

It  was  some  time  before  Austin  found  out  how  it  was  that 
The  Dreamer  came  to  such  fame  as  it  had,  and  when  he  did 
he  found  the  explanation  more  astonishing  than  the  original 
puzzle.  It  was  only  very  recently  that  he  had  learned  of  Miss 
QuebelPs  share  in  it,  and  now  he  was  passing  on  his  inform- 
ation to  Farmer  and  declaiming  about  the  capriciousness  of 
fortune,  and  still  more  of  women  who  will  at  times  take  an 

34 


DESIRE 

interest  in  the  most  unsuitable  men  and  unlikely  things.  And 
Farmer  merely  grunted. 

"  Serves  you  right,"  he  said,  "  for  wasting  that  ticket  on 
him  ;  just  chucked  away  your  own  chance.' 

"  Rot !  "  Austin  replied.  "  Where's  the  chance  ?  Because 
she  was  pleased  to  notice  him  is  there  any  reason  why  she 
should  have  done  the  same  by  us  ?  I  tell  you  there's  no 
reason  in  these  things  or  in  the  sex  either,  and  she's  got 
plenty  of  sex.  Have  you  seen  her  ? " 

Farmer  had  not. 

"  I  saw  her  the  other  night  at  the  play,"  Austin  said. 
"  Somebody  pointed  her  out.  I  made  a  sketch  of  her  after- 
wards. I've  got  it  somewhere." 

He  began  to  turn  over  loose  sheets  of  paper. 

"  Handsome  r  "  Farmer  asked  casually. 

"  I'll  show  you  if  I  can  find  the  thing."  Austin  smiled  a 
little  as  he  unsuccessfully  hunted  for  the  missing  sketch.  "  A 
fellow  wouldn't  bother  himself  much  asking  if  she  were  a 
beauty  when  he  was  with  her,  he'd  have  enough  to  do  to  keep 
from  kissing  her  before  the  time  was  ripe." 

Farmer  laughed.  "  I'd  like  to  see  Grimstone  taken  that 
way,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  he'll  come  a  mucker  sooner  or  later,"  Austin 
answered.  "  He's  going  at  it  fresh,  mind  you,  he  doesn't 
know  anything  about  women,  and  he's  getting  his  initiation 
in  a  remarkable  school.  He'll  lose  his  head  before  long.  Some 
excuse,  too,  she  must  be  a  bit  champagney  for  a  temperate 
man.  I  don't  seem  as  if  I  were  going  to  find  that  sketch." 

Farmer  having  an  appointment  elsewhere,  took  his  depar- 
ture, leaving  Austin  still  searching  for  the  portrait.  He  had 
found  it  and  put  it  aside  and  gone  back  to  work  when  a  little 
later  Peter  came  in. 

Peter,  of  course,  came  on  business,  nothing  else  was  likely 

35 


DESIRE 

to  bring  him  to  Austin.  He  stated  his  errand  and  waited 
while  the  artist  looked  for  some  required  paper.  While  he 
did  so  Peter's  eyes  chanced  to  light  on  the  portrait  of  Desire, 
which  now  lay  with  other  sketches. 

It  was  one  of  those  daring,  almost  caricature-like  portraits 
for  which  Austin  afterwards  became  known  ;  a  flashlight 
effect  in  which  one  single  characteristic  was  seized,  exagger- 
ated and  insisted  upon  almost  to  the  exclusion  of  everything 
else,  yet  without  destroying  an  uncanny  likeness  to  the 
original.  The  hair  in  the  sketch  was  redder  than  in  life,  a 
blurred  background  which  suggested  a  dull  but  glowing 
heat ;  the  eyes  were  browner  than  they  usually  looked  in 
life,  and  held  in  them  an  invitation  which  was  not  so  distinct 
in  reality,  possibly,  even,  not  existent  at  all  except  in  the 
roused  emotions  of  the  man  who  looked  at  them.  The  lace 
draperies  that  had  lightly  veiled  the  shoulders  of  the  original 
at  the  theatre  were  gone  in  the  sketch,  arms  and  breast  were 
as  bare  as  the  full,  round  throat — bare  as  a  Venus.  In  some 
way  the  thing  suggested  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  Venus, 
not  Venus,  type  of  beauty,  but  Venus,  goddess  of  love,  the 
quintessence  of  woman,  the  lure. 

For  a  moment  Peter  stood  looking  at  the  thing,  very  still, 
very  tense ;  so  much  so  that  Austin  suddenly  became  aware 
of  it  and  looked  up. 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  said,  seeing  what  he  looked  at.  "  You've 
found  Desire  ? " 

It  cannot  be  said  that  Peter  stiffened,  he  was  already  per- 
fectly stiff.  "  Why  do  you  call  her  that  ? "  he  said  in  tones 
deceptively  slow  and  cold. 

"  It's  her  name,  I  was  told,"  Austin  answered  ;  "  an  excel- 
lent name,  too — the  Desirable,  the  Desired,  the  Desirous — 
in  short,  Desire.  Our  godfathers  and  our  godmothers  in  our 
baptism  do  not  usually  show  so  much  sense." 

36 


DESIRE 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  this  ?  "  Peter  nodded  towards 
the  portrait  but  did  not  touch  it.  It  was  noticeable  that  he 
had  not  touched  it  all  along.  "  What  do  you  want  for  it  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  Austin  said,  coming  round  and  looking  at  it. 
"  As  a  work  of  art  it  is  worth  nothing.  I  don't  mind  ad- 
mitting it  to  you,  because  you  can't  see  it  for  yourself.  It  is 
waste  paper — see  here." 

He  had  a  pencil  in  his  hand,  and  with  it  would  have 
pointed  out  the  technical  blemishes,  but  Peter  cut  him 
short. 

"  Then  you  will  give  it  to  me  ? " 

Austin  shook  his  head.  "If,"  he  said,  "you  haven't  the 
courage  to  ask  the  lady  to  give  you  a  big  panel  portrait  of 
herself,  or  a  little  wee  trifle  to  wear  next  your  heart,  I  won't 
help  you." 

"  You  won't  ?  "     There  was  a  new  ring  in  Peter's  voice. 

"  No,"  Austin  said  ;  "  I  won't.  Charming  as  it  would  be 
for  you  to  have  such  a  replica  always  before  your  eyes  I'll 
not  pander  to  you.  By  the  way,  I  suppose  it  is  for  yourself 
you  want  it?  " 

Then  Peter  looked  up  and  Austin  saw  there  was  a  faint 
flush  on  his  face  and  a  steely  glitter  in  his  eyes.  "  I  want  it 
to  burn,"  he  said.  "  It  is  the  most  abominable,  damnable 
insult  that  was  ever  offered  to  a  woman  !  " 

Austin  burst  out  laughing,  the  criticism  delighted  as  much 
as  it  surprised  him.  He  had  not  the  faintest  idea  that  his 
picture  with  its  suggestion  shocked,  almost  shamed,  something 
in  Peter,  who,  not  only  had  never  seen  the  original  thus,  but 
never  could  so  see  her.  He  took  up  the  sketch.  "  Not 
good  enough  of  her  ? "  he  asked  grinning.  "  We  can't  all 
see  her  with  the  eyes  of  love,  my  boy.  Now  I  call  this  quite 
a  pretty  thing — in  feet,  I  rather  think  of  pinning  it  up  on  the 
wall." 

37 


DESIRE 

"  I  should  not  advise  you  to,"  Peter  said. 

Austin  immediately  proceeded  to  fasten  it  up. 

"  I  warn  you,"  Peter  went  on  quietly,  "  since  you  won't 
sell  it  or  give  it  I  shall  take  it." 

Austin  looked  round,  for  the  first  time  becoming  aware 
that  Peter,  who  plainly  was  not  fooling,  was  also  not  taking 
his  fooling  the  right  way. 

"  No,  you  won't,"  he  said  shortly.  "  You  won't  take 
it." 

Peter  leaned  across  and  pulled  the  half-fastened  sketch  from 
the  wall. 

The  suddenness  and  unexpectedness  of  the  movement,  so 
unlike  the  Peter  he  knew,  astonished  Austin  so  much  that 
for  a  second  he  did  nothing.  Then  he  snatched  at  the  picture 
angrily. 

Peter  deliberately  tore  it  across. 

Then  Austin  lost  his  temper.  He  flung  himself  upon  the 
offender  and  for  a  minute  they  struggled,  the  sketch  getting 
badly  torn  between  them  ;  but  the  end  was  easy  to  see. 
Peter  was  the  heavier  and  stronger  man,  moreover,  all  he 
aimed  at,  the  destruction  of  the  picture,  was  easy  to  attain. 
Before  Paddy,  who  barked  and  jumped  round  joyously,  had 
realized  that  they  were  in  earnest,  not  fun,  it  was  all  over  and 
the  offending  sketch  reduced  to  unrecognizable  fragments. 

Austin,  of  course,  was  furiously  angry,  and  he  told  Peter 
what  he  thought  of  him,  in  no'measured  terms.  And  Peter, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  did  not  care  at  all.  Public  opinion,  and 
personal  opinion  too,  entered  very  little  into  his  solitary  life  ; 
it  did  not  matter  in  the  least  to  him  what  Austin  thought, 
the  only  thing  which  mattered  was  that  the  picture  was 
destroyed.  That  done,  the  affair  was  ended  for  him,  and 
though  he  saw  Desire  that  afternoon  he  did  not  so  much  as 
look  for  any  points  of  resemblance  between  her  and  the 

38 


DESIRE 

portrait  ;  he  certainly  would  never  have  dreamed  of  mention- 
ing it  to  her. 

His  appointment  with  Desire  that  afternoon  was  to  have 
tea  with  her  and  meet  an  important  editor  to  whom  she 
wanted  to  introduce  him.  As  it  happened,  however,  the 
great  man  telephoned  at  the  last  minute  to  say  he  could  not 
come,  so  Peter  was  alone  with  his  hostess.  He  had  been  that 
before ;  since  the  writing  of  the  letter  about  The  Dreamer 
he  had  seen  more  of  her  than  he  had  ever  seen  of  any  one, 
that  is  to  say,  he  had  seen  her  more  intimately,  and  after  a 
time  talked  to  her  of  things  he  had  never  spoken  of  to  any  one 
else  (other  men  before  him  had  done  that). 

That  afternoon  they  talked  for  a  time  of  his  affairs  and  the 
progress  of  the  novel  he  was  now  writing,  in  which  Desire 
took  a  warm  and  enthusiastic  interest  ;  afterwards  they  spoke 
of  her  concerns.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  she  told  him 
something  of  her  family  history. 

"  My  mother  was  a  variety  actress,"  she  said.  "  You 
didn't  know  that  ?  She  was  more  beautiful  than  virtuous  it 
is  reported." 

Peter  did  not  know  and  he  was  surprised  to  hear  it,  she 
gathered  as  much  from  his  tone,  and  for  some  reason  resented  it. 

"  You  are  surprised  that  I  speak  of  it  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Do 
you  think  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  it  ?  I'm  not.  Every 
one  knows  I  am  not  Lady  Quebell's  daughter  j  a  good  many 
know  that  I  am  not  my  father's  legitimate  daughter — What 
difference  does  it  make  ?  " 

"  None,"  Peter  said. 

And  he  was  right,  for,  from  early  childhood,  she  had  had 
the  position  and  advantages  of  a  legal  daughter,  and  even  if 
she  had  not  her  own  personality  and  characteristics  would  be 
likely  to  have  carried  off  a  more  difficult  situation,  and 
successfully  stood  up  against  greater  disadvantages. 

39 


DESIRE 

But  she  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  Peter's  answer.  "  It 
is  a  shock  to  you  ?  "  she  asked.  "  Why  ? " 

Peter  could  not  tell  her. 

But  she  persisted.  "  What  do  you  object  to  ?  Is  it  my 
mother's  profession  or  her  want  of  virtue  ?  Are  you  one  ot 
those  people  who  think  every  one  ought  to  marry  no  matter 
what  their  circumstances  ?  Or  is  it  that  you  think  these 
things  ought  not  to  be  mentioned  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  things  strike  you  and  me  in  quite  the  same 
way,"  was  all  Peter  said. 

"  How  do  they  strike  you  ? "  she  asked.  "  I'll  tell  you 
how  they  strike  me,  as  a  good  deal  of  utter  humbug.  We 
don't  make  more  than  a  stereotyped  and  very  transparent 
pretence  about  our  acquaintances'  chers  amis ;  we  say  quite 
frankly  we  must  ask  the  Captain  if  we  ask  Mrs.  So  and  So, 
and  it's  no  good  having  What's-his-name  if  we  don't  have 
the  Thingummy  woman.  Why,  in  the  name  of  all  that's 
rotten,  make  such  a  fuss  over  the  name  of  a  poor  woman 
who  was  not  quite  so  straight  as  she  ought  to  have  been  or 
nearly  so  crooked  as  she  might  have  been  ?  " 

Peter  could  not  answer  her  ;  it  was  no  use,  he  was  aware, 
as  he  had  been  before,  that  her  world  and  his  were  miles 
apart,  and  that  things  were  openly  spoken  of  and  only  less 
openly  done  in  hers  that  were  still  regarded  as  disgraceful  and 
a  breaking  of  Divine  commands  in  the  humbler  circle  to 
which  he  belonged.  He  knew  that  difference  but  he  could 
not  explain  it,  he  had  so  long  been  silent  about  his  thoughts 
that  he  found  it  very  difficult  at  times  to  give  them  utterance. 

But  Desire  wanted  an  answer.  "  Why  is  one  so  much 
worse  and  unspeakable  than  the  other  ?  "  she  insisted. 

"  It  isn't,"  he  said. 

She  repeated  the  words  after  him  in  surprise,  and  then,  as 
for  once  the  glimmering  of  a  point  of  view  quite  other  than 

40 


DESIRE 

her  own  began  to  dawn  on  her — "  Wouldn't  you  speak  of 
either  r  "  she  asked,  with  puzzled  interest.  "  Then  I  have 
shocked  you  ?  But  still  I  don't  see  why.  No,  I  don't.  I'm 
afraid  you  must  continue  to  think  me  shocking.  I  am  quite 
unable  to  see  why  it  is  worse  to  speak  than  to  do." 

"  It  isn't,"  he  said  again  ;  then,  as  she  continued  to  look  at 
him  for  enlightenment,  he  added, "  It  isn't  worse  to  speak.  But 
if  one  thought  a  thing  wrong  one  might  be  ashamed — one 

wouldn't  speak "  he  broke  off.  "  I  did  not  mean  to  say 

that  exactly.  Your  people  are Things  are  just  different 

to  them.  It  is  no  good  trying  to  explain." 

She  nodded  without  entirely  comprehending ;  but  she 
repeated  one  of  his  words.  "  Wrong  ?  "  she  said.  "  Do  you 
think  about  things  being  right  or  wrong  ?  How  wonderful  !  " 

It  did  not  seem  to  him  wonderful,  rather  an  obvious  and 
ordinary  way  of  thinking,  but  to  her  it  was  clearly  different. 
"  Do  you  know,"  she  said  after  a  little  pause,  "  I  don't 
believe  I  have  ever  before  heard  it  spoken  of — except  in  a 
fashionable  pulpit  where  it  doesn't  exactly  count.  Oh,  of 
course,  I  have  heard  of  the  wearing  of  the  wrong  thing  and 
saying  the  wrong  thing  and  doing  the  wrong  thing,  but  that 
doesn't  mean  the  same,  they  all  belong  to  the  category  of 
the  wrong  side  of  the  park.  But  you  think  about  a  thing 
being  really  wrong  ?  You  do  ?  And  I  have  lived  all  the 
years  of  my  life  without  once,  even  in  my  childhood,  being 
told,  to  my  knowledge,  that  a  thing  was  wrong  that  way.  I 
suppose,"  she  spoke  almost  wistfully,  "  you  were  often  told 
it  ? " 

He  nodded.     "  Very  often,"  he  answered. 

"  Too  often  ? — I  wonder !  Your  childhood  and  youth  were 
hard,  I  suppose  ? — yes,  I  think  I  have  always  known  they 
were.  Yet  it  must  be  worth  something,  that  training  of 
right  and  wrong.  I  don't  think  you  could  have  written  The 


DESIRE 

Dreamer  if  you  had  not  had  it  and  did  not  still  think  that 
way  underneath.  I  was  not  trained  at  all,  you  know,  except 
in  the  wearing  of  clothes  and  the  conforming  to  conventions. 
And  in  both,  as  you  perceive,  I'm  afraid  I  rather  follow  my 
own  inclinations.  I  believe  I  have  all  my  life  done  precisely 
what  I  pleased  without  regard  for  any  rule  that  I  know  of, 
except  convenience  ;  I  expect  I  always  shall." 

"  You  would  always  regard  other  people,"  Peter  told  her. 
"  I  am  certain  you  never  have  and  never  will  do  what  you 
please  if  it  hurts  anybody  else." 

"  No  ;  because  it  would  not  please  me  to  do  it.  I  don't  like 
seeing  a  hurt.  If  I  can  overlook  that,  as  no  doubt  I  often  do, 
there's  nothing  to  prevent  me  from  being  a  beast  to  any  one." 

Peter  thought  otherwise,  she  saw  it  in  his  face  when  he 
rose  to  go,  and  was  pleased. 

"I'm  glad  that  you,  in  spite  of  your  convictions,  can 
continue  to  think  well  of  me,"  she  said  ;  "  and  yet,  do  you 
know,  I  have  a  feeling  I  shouldn't  mind  if  you  found  me  out 
— isn't  that  odd  ?  " 

It  did  not  strike  Peter  as  odd  :  no  one  thing  about  her 
seemed  more  strange  to  him  than  another,  she  was  altogether 
outside  his  range  of  experience  ;  he  did  not  attempt  to  judge 
or  measure  her. 

But  to  her  it  was  odd,  for  she  liked  the  man  and  valued 
his  good  opinion  surprisingly,  seeing  he  was  nothing  j  yet  she 
was  not  afraid  of  losing  it.  For  a  while  the  anomaly  of  it 
arrested  her  attention  ;  she  stood  thinking  about  it  for  quite 
two  minutes  after  he  had  gone,  and  was  only  recalled  to 
other  things  when  a  servant  came  to  tell  her  that  some  one 
wanted  to  see  her. 

"  Who  ? "  she  asked. 

"  A  lady,  miss  ;  she  gave  no  name." 

It  was  easier  to  see  Desire  than  many  people  of  her  set ; 

42 


DESIRE 

as  almost  everything  amused  or  interested  her  she  went  open 
handed  to  meet  any  happenings  that  came  her  way.  To-day 
she  did  not  refuse  herself  to  the  lady  who  gave  no  name,  but 
ordered  that  she  should  be  shown  up. 

She  came,  a  woman  of  seven-  or  eight-and-twenty  perhaps, 
quietly  but  well  dressed,  with  an  appearance  which  suggested 
to  Desire  that  she  gained  her  living  by  some  more  or  less 
intellectual  pursuit.  A  lady  undoubtedly,  and  a  good  looking 
one,  who  just  missed  beauty  ;  without  knowing  why  Desire 
mentally  took  her  measure,  and,  considering  she  rarely 
troubled  about  such  things,  she  did  not  do  it  badly.  A 
strong  woman,  but  emotional,  sympathetic  in  some  ways, 
good  for  a  sacrifice,  introspective,  able  to  suffer,  superior  to 
some  [conventions — her  hair  was  done  as  it  became  her, 
without  regard  for  fashion — but  probably  sensitive  to  the 
criticism  that  may  arise — she  had  conformed  to  the  usual 
standards  in  her  costume  though  it  did  not  quite  become  her. 

The  stranger  did  not  introduce  herself  but  plunged  straight 
into  the  business;  which  had  brought  her,  after  the  briefest 
apology  for  her  coming. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  question,"  she  said. 

And  Desire  acquiesced  graciously. 

"  I  saw  in  the  paper,"  she  went  on,  "  that  before  long  you 
are  to  be  married  to  a  Mr.  Edward  Gore,  a  barrister,  now 
abroad  for  his  health — is  that  true  ?  " 

"  Quite  true." 

"  Have  you — "  the  visitor  appeared  to  swallow  with 
difficulty  but  she  spoke  steadily  and  with  indifference — 
"  have  you  been  engaged  long  ?  " 

"  Since  just  before  Mr.  Gore  was  taken  ill." 

"  The  engagement  was  announced  in  the  papers  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so." 

"  I  didn't  see  it,"  the  woman  seemed  to  speak  more  to 

43 


DESIRE 

herself  than  to  Desire,  but  directly  after  she  turned  to  her 
again  ;  her  voice  and  manner  were  very  calm  and  self- 
possessed,  indeed  almost  expressionless,  but  a  close  observer 
might  have  seen  that  the  muscles  about  her  mouth  were 
curiously  tense  and  the  pupils  of  her  eyes  contracted  under 
the  stress  of  some  hidden  emotion. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  how  long  you  have  known  Mr. 
Gore  ? "  she  asked.  "  Four  or  five  months  before  the 
engagement  ?  You  know  him  well,  of  course  ?  You — 
you — care  for  him  ?  " 

Her  voice  faltered  a  moment  but  Desire  showed  no  per- 
ception of  the  fact,  she  had  evinced  no  surprise  whatever 
at  the  inquiries,  nothing  but  polite  and  commonplace 
interest.  "  Isn't  that  rather  a  personal  question  ? "  she  asked 
pleasantly.  "  Won't  you  tell  me  something  now  ?  For 
instance,  what  is  your  interest  in  this  ?  You  are,  of  course, 
a  friend  of  Mr.  Gore's — one  to  whom  I  have  not  been 
introduced — Yes  ?  " 

"  You  never  would  have  been  introduced  to  me.  I — I  am 
the  woman  he  ought  to  marry." 

Desire  did  not  wince  or  start.  "  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 
she  said  gently. 

"  Sure  ? "  there  was  a  bitter  little  laugh  ;  "  it  is  not  a 
question  on  which  there  is  room  for  much  doubt.  I  left 
his  child  and  mine  to  come  to  you  ;  I  shall  find  her  waiting 
when  I  go  back.  We  have  been — he  and  I " 

Desire  nodded,  and  the  other  controlled  her  rising  passion. 
"  Perhaps — "  she  said,  and  the  bitterness  had  increased, 
"  perhaps  you  do  not  consider  that  a  claim — a  man's 
amusement " 

"I  never  concern  myself  about  a  man's  amusements," 
Desire  said.  "  What  men  tell  me  I  hear,  what  they  do  not 
I  do  not.  But,"  and  she  leaned  forward  with  a  sudden 

44 


DESIRE 

concentration  of  voice  and  manner,  "you  are  not  a  man's 
amusement  and  you  never  have  been." 

The  other  flushed  faintly  then  went  white  again. 

"  What  I  meant,  when  I  asked  you  if  you  were  sure  you 
were  the  woman  this  man  ought  to  marry,  was — are  you 
sure  you  are  the  woman  who  can  help  him — in  himself, 
his  career,  everything  ?  Are  you  sure,  not  whether  you 
have  a  moral,  a  legal,  an  honourable  claim  on  one  another, 
but  whether  you  would  fit  one  another  always,  not  weary 
one  another,  not  regret  ? " 

A  faint  surprise  stole  into  the  visitor's  grey  eyes,  this 
clearly  was  an  interpretation  of  the  question  which  had  not 
occurred  to  her  ;  she  had  to  think  before  she  answered  then 
she  said,  rather  brokenly,  "I  am  sure  that  he  loved  me — 
sure  that  in  the  past  I  helped  him.  Before  he  came  into 
money,  before  he  was  recognized  much,  when  he  had  his 
way  to  make,  my  sympathy  and  help  were  much  to  him.  We 
ought  to  have  been  content  with  that — being  friends,  you  will 
say,  seeing  he  could  not  afford  to  marry  me  and  I  was  just 
a  woman  of  no  position,  only  one  of  gentle  birth  who  had 
to  make  her  own  way.  No  doubt  you  would  be  right,  for  a 
time  we  thought  so  too,  afterwards — not.  We  were  both 
lonely,  it  did  not  seem  to  concern  any  one  but  ourselves 
if  we  took  what  of  happiness  and  companionship  was  to  be 
had.  Perhaps  you  will  say  it  does  not  concern  any  one  now 
— if  one  does  wrong " 

But  Desire  waved  that  aside.  "  I  am  no  judge  of  right 
and  wrong,"  she  said.  "  Go  on,  tell  me  the  rest." 

"  There  is  no  more,"  the  other  answered  ;  "  he  un- 
expectedly inherited  money,  as  you  know ;  it  was  just 
before  you  met  him,  he  had  been  ill  and  went  south  for 
the  cold  weather,  you  must  have  met  him  then.  I  saw 
little  of  him  ;  I  thought  it  was  owing  to  his  health,  to  his 

45 


DESIRE 

being  so  busy  and  being  away,  and  then  finally  breaking 
down  again  and  having  to  go  for  the  voyage.  I  had  no  idea 
of — of  anything  until  I  chanced  to  see  this  paragraph." 

Desire  nodded  and  for  a  moment  there  was  silence.  The 
woman  sat  with  set  face,  the  haggard  tragedy  of  her  eyes  at 
terrible  variance  with  the  studied  calm  of  her  manner. 

Desire's  face  revealed  nothing.  "  And  then  you  came  to 
me  ? "  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes ;  I  could  not  understand — it  was  incredible — I  could 
not  believe  it  was  for  position,  money,  influence  ;  if  it  had 
been  for  that  it  would  have  happened,  when  he  needed  that 
help.  Besides,  I  know  him ;  he  would  never,  never  do  it 
for  that.  I  could  not  believe — or  think  why  ;  so  I  came 
and — "  her  eyes  for  a  second  passed  burningly  over  the 
splendid  figure — "and  saw." 

For  a  moment  Desire  shrank  in  spirit  under  the  glance, 
a  sudden  feeling  of  shame  came  over  her,  a  feeling  as  if 
she  were  a  courtesan,  a  beguiler  of  men,  and  this  grey- 
eyed  woman  was  the  wife  she  had  robbed.  Harder  than 
any  charge  of  cruelty  or  selfishness  or  appeal  for  pity  or 
restitution,  the  unconscious  shaft  hit  home. 

But  the  other  went  on  unaware.  "  I  did  not  know,"  she 
said,  her  voice  breaking  a  little  j  "  I  did  not  realize  men  were 
— that  they  could — they  did " 

"  That  they  responded  to  the  lure  of  the  flesh  as  well  as 
the  world  and  the  devil  ?  " 

Desire's  tone  was  light ;  custom  and  common-sense 
always  demanded  of  the  people  among  whom  she  lived  to 
tread  lightly  among  the  deeps  of  emotions  if  by  any  chance 
they  had  to  be  touched  ;  one  should  always  laugh  at  things 
even  if  it  were  sometimes  for  fear  one  should  cry.  Desire 
had  assimilated  the  lesson  more  completely  than  most,  also 
she  had  pride  of  sorts  to  help  her. 

46 


DESIRE 

"  You  did  not  know,"  she  asked,  "  that  idols  could  fall  ? 
That  women  could  topple  each  other's  idols  down  by  just 
existing,  or  revealing  their  existence  ?  It  seems  they  can, 
doesn't  it  ?  And  *  all  the  king's  horses  and  all  the  king's 
men  can't  put  the  idol  together  again  ! '  But  sometimes  the 
woman  can — that  is  wonderful,  the  wonderfullest  thing  in 
the  world." 

For  a  moment  her  voice  softened  wistfully  and  the  other 
looked  up.  "  This  will  make  no  difference  to  you  ? "  she  said. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  you,"  Desire  answered. 

"  Of  me  ?  Of  me  !  Do  you  think  it  makes  so  little 
difference  to  me  ? " 

"  You  cannot  forgive  him  ?  "  Desire  inquired  curiously. 
"  You  can  never  forgive  a  man  of  flesh  for  surrendering  to 
the  promptings  of  the  flesh  ?  I  take  it  you  regard  me  as  the 
choice  of  the  flesh,  and  yourself  and  your  union  with  him  as 
the  choice  and  outcome  of  the  higher  part  ? " 

The  other  woman  flushed;  she  had  hardly  definitely 
thought  this  though  it  was  on  these  grounds  that  she  had 
originally  justified  herself  to  herself.  Somehow  it  startled 
her  to  hear  Desire,  who  stood  on  the  other  side,  utter  it. 
"  I  don't  know,"  she  hesitated,  "  I  can't  explain  ;  I  know 

that  he  and  I What  we  have  been  to  one  another  is  not 

wrong,  whatever  the  world  may  say,  it  is  the  best,  the  truest 
thing  in  his  life.  But  then  you  came — you  are  the  most 
beautiful  woman  I  have  ever  seen — though  it  is  not  that 
only,  there  is  something  about  you,  your  voice,  your  move- 
ments, everything.  I  can  understand  that  it — that  he  might 
not  exactly  be  able  to  help  himself;  perhaps  even  he  was  not 
altogether  false  to  me  while  he  loved  you." 

Desire  nodded.  "  That  is  what  I  say,"  she  said  ;  "  there 
are  the  two  halves  to  the  man,  one  half  is  yours,  and  the 
other  it  seems  mine.  I  am  not  really  a  beautiful  woman, 

47 


DESIRE 

there  you  are  wrong  ;  but  for  the  rest,  the  effect  on  him — 
maybe  in  part  you  are  right.  He  completely  lost  his  head 
about  me  ;  I  did  not  know  how  completely  at  the  time, 
though  of  course  I  knew  he  was  what  used  to  be  called  very 
much  in  love.  I  did  not  realize  till  now  how  little  else  he 
lost  beside  his  head  and  his  self-control.  I  did  not  know 
that  the  rest,  the  best  part,  was  already  given  to  you."  She 
laughed,  a  little  short  laugh.  "  Not  exactly  flattering  to  me, 
is  it  ?"  she  said.  "  But  it  is  true,  I  can  see  it  now ;  it  explains 
a  good  deal." 

Her  eyes  grew  brown  in  thought  as  she  recalled  incidents 
of  the  past.  The  other  woman  watched  puzzled  ;  but  soon 
her  own  tragedy  reabsorbed  her  interest.  "  What  does  it 
matter  ?  what  does  any  of  it  matter  ? "  she  said  wearily. 
"Nothing  can  be  altered  now." 

"  It  matters  a  good  deal,"  Desire  answered  ;  "  I  do  not 
choose  to  be  any  man's  mistress.  Oh  yes  !  I  should  be  the 
mistress,  you  are  the  wife.  The  woman  with  whom  a  man 
has  been  united,  as  he  was  with  you,  with  whom  he  has 
shared  his  work  and  ambition,  his  hopes  and  disappointments, 
his  struggle — she  is  the  wife.  The  woman  who  temporarily 
blinds  him,  so  that  he  seeks  to  possess  her  because  of  some 
momentary  madness  of  the  senses  which  neither  looks  before 
nor  after — she  is  the  mistress.  As  a  rule,  of  course,  it  is  the 
first  kind  of  woman  who  has  the  ring,  the  second  is  usually 
a  temporary  impulse  and  a  temporary  union.  With  us  the 
case  is  reversed,  but  that  makes  no  difference.  For  myself,  I 
do  not  accept  all  the  superstitions  about  the  difference  be- 
tween ring  and  no  ring.  In  this  matter  it  certainly  makes 
no  difference  ;  if  what  you  say  of  yourself  is  true,  you  are 
his  wife  ;  if  what  I  now  have  reason  to  believe  of  myself  is 
true,  I  should  be  his  mistress." 

She  spoke  as  if  the  view  and  conclusion,  which  meant  so 

48 


DESIRE 

much  to  both,  had  been  arrived  at  by  pure  reason  quite  free 
from  emotion.  The  other  woman  for  a  moment  could  only- 
look  and  wonder. 

"  You  will  not  marry  him  ? "  she  said. 

"  No,"  Desire  answered  ;  and  it  must  be  admitted  that 
though  she  undoubtedly  did  sometimes  arrive  at  conclusions 
by  reason  and  a  fearless  facing  of  facts,  she  had  a  tendency  to 
act  upon  them  with  a  headlong  impulsiveness  which  was 
nothing  less  than  precipitous.  "  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  will  give 
him  back  to  you." 

"  You  can't,"  the  other  said  bitterly.  "  Do  you  think  he 
would  come  back  to  me  when  he  knew  that  it  was  I  who 
deprived  him  of  you  ?  Do  you  think  he  would  forgive  that 
while  he  is  still " 

"  Infatuated  ? "  Desire  concluded  for  her.  "  No,  I  do  not. 
But  if  the  infatuation  was  over,  and  he  came  to  himself,  I 
think  well  enough  of  him  to  believe  he  would  come  and  ask 
you  to  forgive  him.  As  to  whether  or  not  you  would  for- 
give— well,  you  know  best  about  that — there  seems  always 
to  be  a  lot  of  forgiveness  wanted  in  all  contracts  between 
men  and  women.  But  I  am  pretty  certain  he  would  come. 
I  do  not  think  I  can  have  been  altogether  mistaken  in  the 
opinion  I  had  of  him." 

Again  there  was  a  faint  wistfulness  in  the  voice,  and  the 
other  woman  wondered  what  that  opinion  was.  Through 
her  mind  there  shot  a  thought  of  her  rival — had  she  cared  ? 
Did  she  care  ?  Did  she  suffer,  too  ?  What  was  the  cost  of 
it  all  to  her  ?  She  leaned  impulsively  forward,  but  before 
she  could  say  anything  Desire  spoke  again,  and  in  the  equable 
tone  of  kindly  justice. 

"  You  must  tell  me  everything  about  yourself  and  him," 
she  said.  "You  will  understand  that  I  must  prove  this  and 
investigate  it  all.  I  can't  ask  him  to  justify  himself,  or  it 
4  49 


DESIRE 

would  then  be  impossible  to  send  him  back  to  you — if  that 
should  turn  out  to  be  the  thing  to  do.  So,  you  see,  I  myself 
must  do  what  I  can  to  clear  him,  and  you  must  help  me  in 
fairness  to  us  all." 

"  I  will  help  you,"  the  other  said  humbly,  "  though  I 
don't  see  what  you  or  any  one  can  do." 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  Desire  said,  with  a  swift  and  disconcerting 
return  to  lightness  again  ;  "  most  likely  you  will  have  to  do 
nothing  and  say  nothing,  and  I  shall  have  to  do  a  great  deal. 
In  the  meantime  we  must  talk,  and  don't  you  think  cognac 
would  help  us  ?  Or  would  you  rather  have  tea  at  this 
belated  hour?" 

"  William,"  she  said  to  the  manservant  who  answered  the 
ring,  "  some  tea,  please,  and  some  cognac.  And,  oh, 
William,  I'm  not  at  home  to  anybody." 

"  Her  ladyship "  the  man  began. 

But— 

"  No,  not  her  ladyship,  either,"  Desire  said. 

And  her  orders  being  obeyed,  she  was  undisturbed  from 
without  till  it  was  time  to  dress  for  dinner.  For,  even  after 
her  visitor  had  gone,  no  one  came  to  her  ;  and  she  sat  alone, 
her  chin  propped  on  her  hand,  looking  straight  before  her. 
When  at  last  the  hour  was  growing  late,  Barton,  who  knew 
her  mistress  had  an  engagement  to  dine  out,  ventured  to 
knock  and  enter.  She  found  her  sitting  very  still,  but  her 
face  was  in  shadow,  and  so  revealed  nothing.  She  rose,  on 
the  maid's  hesitating  reminder  of  the  time,  and  stretched  her- 
self, frankly,  as  a  boy  or  a  dog,  but  also  as  one  who  throws  a 
burden  down. 

"It  is  an  extraordinary  world,"  she  said,  "  an  extraordinary 
world,  so  extraordinary  that  in  hurts  sometimes.  Don't  you 
think  so,  Barton  ?  " 

Barton  did  not  think. 

50 


CHAPTER  IV 

DESIRE  QUEBELL  undoubtedly  had  the  faculty  for  surprising 
even  those  who  knew  her  well ;  two  people  were  astonished 
by  her  during  that  June — one  was  Lady  Ouebell  who,  by 
her  own  showing,  should  have  been  prepared  for  anything 
of  a  distressing  nature  to  occur  in  connection  with  her 
step-daughter. 

It  was  a  generally  understood  thing  that  Desire  would  be 
married  at  the  beginning  of  August,  just  before  every  one 
left  town.  Gore  was  expected  home  in  July,  the  wedding 
was  to  be  within  a  reasonable  time  after  that.  Not  much 
in  the  way  of  preparation  had  been  made  yet,  Desire  being 
one  who  objected  to  lengthy  getting  ready,  preferring  rather 
to  enjoy  the  present  moment  and  leave  the  preparations  for 
the  next  to  be  rushed  triumphantly  and  excitingly  through 
at  high  speed.  Lady  Quebell's  tastes  were  of  a  totally 
different  order,  and  through  her  instrumentality  some 
certain  trousseau  orders  had  been  placed  in  reasonable  time, 
not  so  many  as  she  wished  because  all  had,  more  or  less,  to 
pass  through  Desire.  But  by  the  beginning  of  June  she 
felt  that  it  was  time  things  were  fully  in  train,  and  she  said 
so  to  Desire,  and  repeated  it  so  many  times  and  with  such 
a  manifest  intention  of  seeing  to  the  matter  herself  that 
Desire  was  roused  to  take  action. 

"  The  wedding  ?  "  she  said.  "  You  want  to  order  the  cake 
and  fix  the  date  and  all  the  rest  ? " 

"  It  ought  to  have  been  done  some  time  ago,"  Lady 
Quebell  said,"  seeing  how  full  those  last  few  days  always  are." 

51 


DESIRE 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  pity  to  fill  them  any  fuller  r " 
Desire  suggested  ;  then,  observing  an  impatient  look,  she 
added,  "  Really  I  mean  it ;  at  all  events  I  think  it  would  be 
a  pity  to  fix  the  wedding  for  then  because  I  am  not  at  all 
sure  it  is  going  to  take  place." 

Lady  Quebell  put  down  the  pencil  with  which  she  was 
making  notes  and  stared  at  her  step-daughter  in  blank 
amazement. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Just  that,"  Desire  answered  calmly  j  "  I  am  not  sure  that 
I  am  going  to  be  married.  I  can't  tell  you  for  certain  till 
Ted  comes  home,  but  I  don't  think  you  had  better  fix  dates 
and  order  cakes  and  so  on  before  I've  seen  him." 

"  You  are  going  to  jilt  him  ? "  Lady  Quebell,  still  under 
the  influence  of  the  first  shock,  seemed  hardly  able  to  grasp 
what  was  said.  "  You  mean  that — you  can  mean  nothing 
else — if  you  break  off  the  engagement  now  it  is  nothing 
less.  It  is  preposterous  !  Impossible  !  You  cannot  mean 
this — even  you." 

"  Well,"  Desire  said,  "  of  course  it  may  not  occur,  but  I 
thought  I  ought  to  warn  you." 

Lady  Quebell  set  her  lips.  "  I  see,"  she  said  freezingly  ; 
"  do  not  trouble  to  explain  yourself,  you  have  of  course 
practically  made  up  your  mind  to  do  it  already." 

"  Have  I  ?  "  Desire  asked.  "  I  wonder  ?  "  and  she  seemed 
to  be  quite  as  interested  in  the  question  as  ever  her  step- 
mother could  be. 

Lady  Quebell  did  not  perceive  that,  or  at  all  events  did 
not  believe  in  it,  for  which  perhaps  one  cannot  altogether 
blame  her.  "What  are  your  reasons?"  she  demanded, 
forgetting  that  a  moment  before  she  had  intimated  no  wish 
for  explanation. 

"  My  reasons  for  not  being  sure  what  I  am  going  to  do  ? " 

52 


DESIRE 

Desire  said.  "  Or  for  what  I  do — if  I  do  it  ?  They  are 
rather  mixed  just  at  present  ;  I  really  don't  think  I  could 
explain  them.  Indeed,  if  it  had  not  been  for  your  quite 
natural  anxiety  about  ordering  the  cake  and  so  on,  I  would 
not  have  troubled  you  now  with  what  may  never  come  to 
anything  at  all." 

But  Lady  Quebell  was  neither  mollified  nor  relieved  by 
this  and  she  continued  to  trouble  both  herself  and  Desire; 
she  even  took  the  unusual  step  of  troubling  Sir  Joseph.  So 
much  so  did  she  do  the  last  that  he  made  time  to  speak  to 
Desire  himself. 

In  the  interview  that  Sir  Joseph  had  with  his  daughter  he 
did  not  of  course  demand  information  or  insist  on  any  line 
of  conduct ;  the  terms  of  liberty,  equality  and  dispassionate 
amiability  of  the  household  did  not  admit  of  that.  He  no 
more  thought  of  it  with  Desire  than  he  would  with  any 
friend  or  acquaintance  in  whom  he  was  interested.  He  only 
asked  her  what  it  was  she  talked  of  doing  about  her  marriage, 
and  afterwards  gave  her  a  little  advice  on  the  subject. 

"  Marriage  is  a  serious  affair  for  any  woman,"  he  said 
a  trifle  awkwardly  ;  he  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that 
the  parental  position,  which  he  had  consistently  forgotten, 
demanded  some  such  remarks  of  him.  Unfortunately  the 
actual  presence  of  Desire  had  rather  the  effect  of  reducing 
the  newly  remembered  position  to  something  of  an  absurdity 
and  making  the  saying  things  even  more  uncomfortable  than 
the  feeling  they  ought  to  be  said. 

She  agreed  with  him,  of  course,  but  added  an  addendum — 

"  Serious  for  any  woman,  and  more  serious  still  for  some 
men.  Don't  you  think  marriage  with  me  would  be  a 
serious  undertaking  ?  Some  people  do." 

"  Gore  is  perfectly  satisfied,  more  than  satisfied,"  Sir 
Joseph  said,  remembering  the  rather  unlocked  for  eagerness 

53 


DESIRE 

of  that  serious  and  ambitious  man — an  eagerness  he  had  only 
seen  paralleled  in  his  own  passion  for  Desire's  mother. 
That  passion,  by  the  way,  would  certainly  have  resulted  in 
marriage  had  it  not  been  for  the  wisdom  and  generosity  ot 
the  woman.  It  had  resulted  in  the  position  of  the  daughter 
of  the  union,  who  did  not  altogether  resemble  the  mother. 
Sir  Joseph,  looking  at  her  now,  could  trace  small  resemblance 
though,  so  he  concluded  there  must  be  some,  for  men 
seemed  to  lose  their  judgment  about  her  as  he  had  about 
the  other  woman. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  about  Gore's  inclination," 
he  said  ;  "  and  as  to  yours — you  seemed  satisfied,  you  made 
the  engagement  for  no  other  reason  that  I  know  of  than  to 
please  yourself;  you  believed,  I  understood,  that  you  would  be 
happy  married  to  Gore  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Desire  assented  ;  "  I  did,  I'm  not  at  all  sure  I 
shouldn't  be  happier  married  to  him  than  any  other  way, 
but,  in  spite  of  that,  it  may  not  be  able  to  be  managed. 
We'll  do  it  if  we  can,  but  if  we  can't — it  is  no  good  crying 
over  spilt  milk.  Certainly  very  little  good  beginning  to  cry 
before  the  milk  is  spilt  and  before  we  know  that  it  is  going 
over." 

"  I  should  be  rather  glad  to  learn  what  your  motives 
are,"  Sir  Joseph  said. 

Desire  glanced  at  the  clock.  "  They  would  take  rather 
long  to  explain,"  she  said  ;  "  and  you  haven't  much  time  just 
now." 

Sir  Joseph  glanced  at  the  clock  too.  "  That  is  true,"  he 
admitted  :  "  still,  I  should  like  to  learn  them  at  some  future 
date  ;  I  might  reasonably  ask  for  them,  I  think  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  you  might,"  Desire  said  ;  "  I'm  afraid  I  some- 
times forget  that  you  or  any  one  else  has  such  rights  over 
my  affairs.  I  get  into  the  way  of  thinking  it  does  not 

54 


DESIRE 

matter  to  any  one  what  I  decide  or  how,  it  is  really  rather 
terrible  of  me." 

"  Well,  well,"  Sir  Joseph  said  hastily,  "  I'm  not  sure  it  is  not 
the  best  way  after  all ;  your  concerns  are  really  more  your 
own  than  any  one's,  you  are  no  doubt  quite  capable  of 
managing  them  for  yourself,  more  capable  than  I  who  have 
little  time  to  spare.  As  for  this  business,  it  really  seems  yours 
and  Gore's  more  than  anybody's  ;  I  should  advise  you  to 
settle  it  with  him." 

"  You  think  that  would  be  the  best  plan  ? "  Desire  said. 
"  Perhaps  you  are  right." 

But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  in  spite  of  her  words  she  settled 
it  without  waiting  for  Gore  ;  at  all  events,  a  few  days  later 
she  took  a  step  that  rather  indicated  something  of  the  sort. 
This  step  was  the  other  surprise  she  gave  at  this  time. 

It  was  given  to  Peter  Grimstone  and  came  to  him  in  a 
letter. 

This  was  the  letter — 

"  /  believe  I  can  rely  on  you — at  all  events,  I  am  going  to  do  it. 
I  want  help,  and  you  are  the  only  one  I  know  who  can  give  it — 
for  a  variety  of  reasons  you  are  the  only  one,  but  principally  because 
you  are  you."  (He  had  no  idea  how  Desire  had  reviewed  the 
many  men  of  her  acquaintance  in  the  new  light  lately  cast 
on  herself  and  her  doubtful  powers  before  she  selected  him.) 
"  This  is  what  I  want  you  to  do — /  want  you  to  let  me  pretend  to 
be  in  love  with  you.  You  need  not  pretend  back,  if  you  agree  you 
will  only  have  to  put  up  with  my  pretence  and  give  me  the 
opportunities  of  letting  it  be  seen.  I  cannot  tell  you  why  I  ask 
this,  I  can  only  ask  you  to  believe  my  reason  is  a  strong  one  and 
one  which  I  think  you  would  not  disapprove  though  it  is  concerned 
with  people  and  events  of  which  you  know  nothing.  Perhaps  I 
am  asking  too  much  ?  It  is  like  me  to  do  so.  If  so  just  refuse, 

55 


DESIRE 

I  shall  quite  understand  and  I  know  I  can  trust  you  in  that  case, 
or  any  other,  to  forget  what  I  have  asked." 

This  was  the  letter  which  surprised  Peter  Grimstone — as 
it  might  have  another.  But  Peter,  unlike  some  others,  did 
not  feel  himself  concerned  with  the  whys  and  wherefores  of 
it  ;  the  question  which  concerned  him  was  not  why  she 
asked,  only  whether  he  should  do  it.  He  considered  the 
matter  awhile  then  he  wrote — 

"  7  will  do  as  you  ask  so  far  as  it  is  in  my  power." 

He  did  not,  it  must  be  admitted,  think  it  was  altogether 
in  his  power.  He  did  not  see  how  he  could  ever  loom  suffici- 
ently important  in  the  eyes  of  Desire's  world  for  it  to  be 
imagined  for  a  moment  that  she  thought  of  him,  seriously  or 
otherwise.  That,  however,  was  her  part  of  the  business,  as 
also  was  the  histrionic  love-making — which,  no  doubt,  was 
just  as  well  if  it  was  to  be  successful,  for  he  had  not  only 
never  been  in  love,  but,  before  he  met  Desire,  had  had  few 
dealings  of  any  sort  with  women,  or  thought  of  them  as  more 
than  a  necessary,  though  rather  remote,  part  of  the  world 
machinery.  But  he  gave  the  promise  unconditionally,  and 
unconditionally  put  himself  under  her  orders.  In  his  opinion 
he  owed  it  to  her  since  it  was  the  service  she  required,  seeing 
how  much  she  had  done  for  The  Dreamer. 

Thereafter  there  began  for  Peter  Grimstone  a  somewhat 
wonderful  time;  a  time  which  made  Austin,  who,  owing 
to  Peter's  incurable  reticence,  never  heard  anything  worth 
hearing,  nearly  frantic  with  envy  and  curiosity  and  bewilder- 
ment. Peter  Grimstone,  Peter  Nobody,  Peter  the  Unsociable, 
the  Unteachable,  the  Puritan  suddenly  entered  into  society — 
after  a  fashion.  Such  an  opportunity  was  given  to  him  as  fell 
to  the  lot  of  few  of  his  position,  such  a  chance  as  would  have 

56 


DESIRE 

turned  the  head  of  some  of  them  and  served  as  an  education 
to  most.  Miss  Quebell,  the  light  of  a  bigger  sphere,  chose 
him  for  her  cavalier  servant^  a  post  he  was  ill-equipped  to  fill. 
She  took  him  everywhere  possible,  and  some  places  not 
possible  to  any  one  else  ;  he  was  seen  with  her  in  well-known 
places  and  little-known  ;  he  devoted  to  her  all  his  spare 
time — and  some  he  could  ill  spare,  for  she  was  exacting  and 
requisitioned  a  great  deal.  He  won  the  dislike  and  envy  and 
sometimes  the  contempt  of  people  who  in  the  ordinary  way 
would  have  been  totally  indifferent  to  his  unimportant 
existence.  He  was  severely  and  frequently  snubbed  by 
Lady  Quebell — that  was  an  inevitable  accompaniment  of 
the  role,  and  might,  perhaps,  have  been  part  of  the  education 
to  a  man  who  could  have  been  educated  that  way.  He — 
it  seemed  incredible — he  actually  got  himself  talked  about  ! 
Austin  was  completely  at  a  loss  to  understand  it  and  he  got 
little  help  from  Peter. 

Indeed  it  was  difficult  to  see  Peter  at  all  at  that  time, 
except  in  working-hours,  for  Desire  was  a  hard  task-mistress. 
She  seemed  bent  on  rushing  the  thing  through  breathlessly, 
without  giving  him  time  to  breathe  or  herself  time  to  think. 
Peter  saw  more  of  life  in  her  company  in  a  week  than  he 
had  in  the  whole  previous  three  years  he  had  been  in  London  : 
more  of  some  things  than  he  would  if  he-  had  lived  there 
thirty-three  years.  For  besides  seeing  the  gorgeousness  and 
glamour  of  the  world  that  plays,  from  the  inside,  he  also  saw 
a  woman  of  considerable  experience  play  love  and  the  love- 
stricken  part.  He  saw  a  fascinating  woman  deliberately 
showing  the  wiles  of  fascination,  a  beautiful  woman  showing 
the  charms  of  beauty,  and,  in  appearance  at  least,  paying  him 
the  compliment  of  her  sole  favour  and  interest.  It  was 
acting,  of  course,  but  first-class  acting,  for  it  had  got  to 
deceive  an  audience  that  rubbed  elbows  with  the  actors. 

57 


DESIRE 

Desire  did  it  very  well  ;  she  had  been  made  love  to  many 
times,  and  half-way  responded,  as  the  much-loved  cannot  by 
nature  help  doing  ;  she  knew  all  about  it.  Her  full  voice 
softened  and  thrilled  for  Peter,  her  brilliant  eyes  brightened 
for  him  and  spoke  as  if  he  and  she  had  a  language  of  their 
own  ;  the  scent  of  her  clung  about  him,  her  carnation  was 
often  in  his  coat.  As  an  exhibition  it  was  really  clever, 
though  some  people  said  really  ridiculous,  by  which  of  course 
they  meant  that  she  was  making  herself  ridiculous. 

Besides  these  public  appearances  there  were  also  more  or 
less  private  ones,  obvious  semi-private  tete-a-t$tes  that  could 
be  talked  about.  What  was  discussed  on  those  occasions 
did  not  concern  the  world,  and  though,  no  doubt,  the  assumed 
parts  were  then  dropped  there  was  necessarily  an  intimacy 
in  the  position  and  a  great  opportunity  for  talk  which  must 
have  been  new  to  Peter's  experience.  He,  on  his  side,  had 
not  much  to  do  but  follow  her  lead  ;  indeed,  it  was  the  only 
thing  he  could  do  and  he  did  not  always  do  that  very  well. 
Once  or  twice  Desire  rather  wondered  that  he  was  not  found 
out.  He  did  his  best,  following  her  with  attention  and 
sometimes  with  a  rather  surprising  quickness — the  quickness, 
though,  of  concentrated  attention  ;  he  never  for  a  moment 
lost  himself  in  the  part,  or  forgot  that  it  was  a  part. 

Desire  was  not  slow  to  perceive  this  and  she  was  just  a 
little  disconcerted  by  it — although  an  intuitive  perception 
of  its  likelihood  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  her  selection 
of  him.  He  would  not  lose  his  head  however  she  placed 
him  or  tried  him  ;  he  not  only  would  not  take  advantage  of 
any  position,  but  also  he  would  not  want  to,  the  idea  would 
not  enter  his  head.  He  would  regard  the  risky  bargain 
as  a  bargain  purely,  and  to  the  letter  carry  out  his  part  of  it 
as  a  business  order.  Once  or  twice  she  wondered  what  he, 
with  the  training  and  standards  she  believed  him  to  have, 

58 


DESIRE 

thought  of  it  and  of  her.  He  never  sought  any  explanation  of 
the  affair,  and  she,  with  a  shyness  rare  with  her,  kept  silent 
about  it.  He  knew  nothing  and  sought  to  know  nothing, 
but  he  must  think  some  way.  Did  he  think  her  that  shame- 
less thing  she  had  for  a  moment  looked  to  herself  on  the  day 
when  the  other  woman  talked  to  her  ?  She  asked  herself 
the  question  once  when  she  was  half-way  through  with  the 
affair,  but  flung  it  from  her  contemptuously,  it  mattered 
nothing  to  her  at  all  what  he  thought.  He  was  nothing,  a 
mere  pawn  in  the  game  which  had  got  to  be  played — and 
should  be  well  played  in  spite  of  him,  in  spite  of  Lady  Quebell 
and  every  one  else  who  held  and  expressed — or  suppressed — 
opinions.  And  she  threw  herself  into  her  part  with  a  new 
zeal  and  a  recklessness  which  suggested  heart  and  mind  at 
little  ease.  And  still  to  whatever  length  her  recklessness 
led  her,  Peter  followed,  gravely,  with  his  best  attention  but 
sometimes  with  an  ineptitude  which  showed  he  missed  the 
meaning  of  some  points  of  her  behaviour.  And  the  misses 
irritated  her  jangled  nerves,  not  because  of  their  stupidity 
but  because,  for  some  unexplained  reason,  they  made  her 
shrink  from  meeting  the  grave  grey  eyes  which  sought 
direction  from  hers. 

But  she  held  on  her  way  to  the  end,  and  not  until  near 
the  end  betrayed  herself  at  all  to  him.  Then  one  night, 
when,  after  a  somewhat  public  exhibition,  they  had  secured 
a  temporary,  though  quite  obvious,  solitude,  she  said 
sharply — 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  look  at  me  like  that !  If  you 
think  I  ought  not  do  it,  say  so  and  have  done  with  it !  " 

"  I  don't  think  so,"  he  answered  ;  "  you  said  you  had  a 
reason  and  of  course  you  have." 

"  Yes ,"  she  began,  but  stopped  on  the  approach  of  a 

third  person — which  no  doubt  gave  that  person  an  entirely 

59 


DESIRE 

erroneous  idea  of  the  nature  of  the  conversation.  By  the 
time  they  were  alone  again  she  had  largely  recovered  her 
equilibrium. 

"I'm  afraid  you  have  found  it  all  dreadfully  boring,"  she 
said  ;  "  and  some  of  them  have  behaved  disgracefully  to  you. 
It's  abominable — it's  made  me  furious  at  times,  I  did  not 
think  I  was  letting  you  in  for  quite  that." 

"  Oh,  that's  nothing,"  he  answered  her  ;  <c  I  should  have 
deserved  it  if  this  had  been  real — it  shows  they  think  it  real, 
so  it's  applause,  you  know." 

She  looked  at  him  rather  curiously.      "  It's  generous  of 
you  to  say  so,"  she  said,  "  and  to  think  it.     Do  you  know 
you  are  the  only  one  of  my  friends  I  could  have  asked  to  do- 
this  ?     I  thought  so,  I  am  sure  of  it  now." 

"  Then  I  am  glad  you  did  ask  me,"  he  said  simply. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  ?  "  For  a  moment  the  question  of 
what  he  really  thought  occurred  to  her  again  ;  but  she  did 
not  ask  it,  she  could  not  consider  such  things  to-night,  she 
had  got  to  be  gay,  she  was  gay  in  fact. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said  ;  "  we  shall  become  improperly 
solemn  if  we  stop  here  any  longer." 

He  rose  obediently.  "  I'm  afraid  you  are  very  tired,"  he 
said. 

"I?  I'm  not  a  bit;  I'm  going  on  to  another  party.  I 
could  go  on  to  two  ;  I  could  dance  all  night — I  never  felt 
more  fit." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  know  ;  I  don't  mean  that  kind  of 
tired." 

"  What  kind  do  you  mean  ?  Tired  in  mind  ?  Please 
don't  distress  yourself  about  that ;  I  haven't  got  a  mind  or 
any  other  obscure  inside  thing.  There's  nothing  the  matter 
with  me." 

"  Of  course  not,"  he  said,  and  looked  away. 

60 


DESIRE 

For  a  moment  a  wave  of  emotion  swept  over  her  so  that 
unbidden  tears  were  near  her  eyes.  She  felt  grateful  to  him 
for  the  acquiescence  and  the  avoidance  of  her  eyes  even 
though  it  showed  he  understood  somewhat.  She  had  a 
momentary  inclination  to  thank  him  but  she  did  not,  she 
only  let  her  touch  on  his  arm  tighten  a  little  and  said 
nothing  at  all. 

In  July  Gore  came  home.  Desire  had  definite  know- 
ledge when  he  would  come,  she  had  it  on  the  evening  when 
she  told  Peter  she  could  dance  all  night.  Sundry  of  her 
friends  and  sundry  more  of  her  enemies  speculated  a  little 
as  to  what  would  happen  when  Gore  returned,  and  they 
watched  events,  when  he  did  come,  with  interest — no  doubt 
much  regretting  their  inability  to  know  quite  all  the  details 
of  what  took  place. 

The  first  thing  which  took  place — and  that  was  one  of 
the  details  generally  unknown — was  that  Desire  postponed 
the  meeting  between  herself  and  Gore  by  twenty-four  hours. 
The  result  of  which  was  that  he  heard  of  Peter  Grimstone 
before  he  saw  Desire,  and  the  hearing  was  not  favourable  to 
the  parties  concerned.  The  next  thing  that  occurred,  also 
unknown  to  most,  was  that  at  the  appointed  time  of  meet- 
ing Desire  was  three-quarters  of  an  hour  late.  Now  Desire 
was  frequently  late'  for  things — not  inevitably,  she  was 
sometimes  minutely  punctual,  there  was  an  uncertainty 
about  her  uncertainty  which  made  it  quite  impossible  to 
allow  for  it.  But  on  this  occasion,  when  the  man  she  was 
to  marry  in  a  few  weeks  returned  to  her  after  absence  and 
ill-health,  she  might  reasonably  have  been  expected  to  be 
punctual,  or  even  waiting  to  receive  him.  She  was  not,  and 
for  three-quarters  of  an  hour  he  waited  for  her  in  her  boudoir 
in  the  Quebell  house  ;  and  his  eager  impatience  to  see  her 
fought  not  unnaturally  with  his  growing  anger  with  what 

61 


DESIRE 

he  had  recently  heard.  The  latter  was  not  decreased  by  the 
sight  of  a  book  lying  on  the  seat  of  her  favourite  chair — 
The  Dreamer,  by  Peter  Grimstone. 

But  at  last  Desire  came  ;  she  was  in  walking-dress,  wear- 
ing one  of  the  preposterous  hats  she  sometimes  affected,  and 
either  haste  or  uneven  weight,  or  the  difficulty  of  steering 
anything  so  big  out  of  a  hansom  in  safety  had  tilted  it 
unbecomingly  aslant.  Gore  noticed  it,  it  was  very  emphati- 
cally obvious,  he  never  before  remembered  having  seen 
anything  the  matter  with  Desire's  appearance,  wind  did 
not  disarrange  her,  she  never  came  to  pieces  anywhere,  nor 
found  the  most  unhandy  garments  any  impediment  to 
graceful  movement.  But  to-day  she  trod  on  her  own 
superabundant  draperies  as  she  came  in  encumbered  with 
small  things — sunshade,  gloves,  glittering  purse,  cigarette 
case.  She  tumbled  them  out  of  her  hands  and  filled  the 
room  with  her  presence. 

"  Oh,  Ted  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  am  so  sorry  !  I  quite  forgot 
you  were  coming  !  How  are  you  ?  "  Taking  both  his  hands 
into  what  was  to  spare  of  hers.  "  Very  fit  ?  Yes,  you  look 
it ;  you  have  done  wonders  in  the  way  of  improving  :  I  don't 
know  how  you  can  have  done  it  in  the  time,  it  seems  only 
the  other  day  you  went  away." 

She  dropped  his  hands,  not  because  of  the  look  in  his  eyes, 
but  to  secure  her  sunshade  which  was  slipping  from  under 
her  arm. 

"  I  am  glad  you  found  the  time  pass  so  quickly,"  he  said 
stiffly.  "  I  hope  pleasantly,  too  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  always  enjoy  everything  and  every  minute, 
but  you  know  that."  She  bent  to  the  bell — "You  are 
dying  for  tea  or  whisky  or  something,  I  know — I  am." 

As  she  bent,  the  seductive  lines  of  her  splendid  figure 
were  brought  into  sight ;  the  perfect  curves,  the  free  move- 

62 


DESIRE 

ment,  struck  the  eye  with  their  old  appeal,  the  deep,  full 
vibrant  voice — though  saying  things  hard  to  forgive — struck 
the  ear  with  its  appeal  too,  the  appeal  to  primitive  man. 
Desire,  whatever  she  said  or  did,  was  still  Desire,  and  half 
of  Gore  for  a  moment  forgot  that  the  other  half  was  justly 
angry  with  her.  Out  of  the  tail  of  her  eye  she  saw 
the  look  which  came  into  his.  He  made  a  step  towards 
her,  which  she  discreetly  did  not  see,  being,  it  would  seem, 
busy  disentangling  her  long  chain  from  a  projecting 
ornament. 

"  Desire  ! " 

The  chain  was  disentangled  and  she  turned.  "  Well," 
she  said,  with  the  discriminating  bravado  which  goes 
forward  to  meet  that  which  must  come,  "  aren't  you  going 
to  kiss  me  ? " 

For  answer  he  took  her  in  his  arms. 

But  the  minute  was  ill-chosen — or  well-chosen — for 
William,  after  a  knock  which  one  of  the  two  did  not  hear, 
had  just  got  the  door  open,  and,  being  laden  with  a  tea-tray 
and  followed  by  an  excited  poodle,  found  retreat  more  than 
difficult.  William  was  an  excellent  servant  and  so  of  course 
understood  all  about  hearing  nothing,  seeing  nothing  and 
being  surprised  at  nothing.  But  he  was  also  an  Englishman 
and  consequently  found  his  present  situation  so  embarrassing 
as  to  make  him  forget  to  hide  the  fact.  Gore  likewise  was 
an  Englishman  and  had  an  intense  dislike  to  looking 
ridiculous.  Men  in  love  do  not  always  think  how  they 
look,  usually  they  take  care  there  is  no  disinterested  person 
to  look  ;  but  only  part  of  Gore  was  in  love,  also  he  was 
placed  with  a  mirror  on  one  side  and  the  embarrassed 
William  on  the  other.  And  Desire  wore  a  hat  of  vast 
dimensions,  secured  with  so  many  and  large  pins  that  no 
trifle  would  shift  its  position  from  her  face — though  some 

63 


DESIRE 

mystery  seemed  to  have  moved  it  earlier.  Also  she  had  put 
her  arms  about  his  neck,  with  a  fervour  highly  flattering  as 
an  expression  of  affection,  but  extremely  detrimental  to  his 
collar. 

That  embrace  was  a  failure  as  no  previous  one  in  his 
intercourse  with  Desire  had  been,  and  he  freed  himself  as 
soon  as  he  could. 

Desire  looked  over  her  shoulder  and  called  to  William,  who 
had  effected  a  bad  retreat.  "  Come  in,  William,  come  in  !  " 

Then  she  sat  down  with  the  utmost  unconcern.  Her 
serene  disregard  for  appearances  could  be  curiously  irritating, 
Gore  thought. 

"  Now,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  all  about  yourself  and  every- 
thing." 

"  I  think,"  Gore  returned  a  little  stiffly,  "  it  would  be 
better  if  you  were  to  tell  me." 

"  It  isn't  half  so  interesting,"  she  said,  carelessly  sugaring 
the  tea  which  he  always  took  unsweetened,  "  but  I'll  tell 
you.  What  would  you  like  to  hear  and  who  would  you  like 
to  hear  about  ? " 

Gore  did  not  say  Grimstone,  though  no  doubt  he  thought 
it ;  however,  as  he  soon  found,  all  roads  led  to  that  Rome. 
"  Tell  me  what  you  were  doing  this  afternoon,"  he  said. 

"  I  was  with  Mr.  Grimstone  ;  we  went " 

"Indeed  ?"  Gore's  irritation  would  not  let  her  finish  the 
sentence.  "You  did  not  think  it  worth  while  waiting  in 
for  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,"  Desire  said  truthfully,  "  no  ;  I'm  afraid  I  didn't. 
I  knew  I  should  be  in  in  heaps  of  time,  I  mean  I  knew  I 
could  have  been  in  if  I  had  remembered.  I'm  awfully  sorry 
I  didn't.  You  don't  think,  do  you,  that  I  ought  to  have 
stopped  in  in  case  I  forgot  ?  You  wouldn't  think  it  if  I 
hadn't  forgotten,  you  know." 

64 


DESIRE 

"I  really  can't  say  what  I  might  have  thought  under 
different  circumstances,"  Gore  said. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  think  under  these  ? "  Desire 
asked.  "  That  I  am  a  most  irritating  person,  and  no  doubt 
I  am." 

She  put  a  hand  lightly  on  his  as  she  spoke,  and  her  touch 
he,  like  some  others,  found  curiously  magnetic,  almost 
thrilling.  But  as  she  stretched  out  her  hand  the  hanging 
laces  of  her  sleeve  caught  the  handle  of  a  tea-cup,  so  the 
usual  effect  was  lost. 

"  Who  is'this  Grimstone  ?  "  Gore  asked  when  the  tea  had 
been  wiped  up. 

"  A  friend  of  mine,"  Desire  answered.  "  He's  not  usually 
free  of  an  afternoon,  except  Saturdays,  that's  why  it  seemed 
such  a  pity  to  waste  to-day.  He's  a  writer,  you  know." 

"  I  have  heard  of  him." 

"  His  book  ?  "  There  was  a  note  of  eagerness  in  the  tone, 
as  of  one  who  has  unexpectedly  struck  a  subject  of  mutual 
interest.  For  a  person  of  Desire's  perceptions  both  tone  and 
question  sounded  singularly  foolish. 

"  No,"  Gore  answered  shortly  ;  "  not  his  book." 

After  that  the  conversation  progressed  unsatisfactorily,  as 
unsatisfactorily  as  any  of  the  interested  friends  or  enemies 
could  have  wished. 

Gore  dined  with  the  Quebells  that  evening  ;  that  was 
Lady  Quebell's  doing.  He  would  have  refused  if  he  could. 
Even  when  he  went  home  to  dress  he  had  thoughts  of  not 
returning,  but  sending  some  excuse  instead  ;  the  only  thing 
which  prevented  him  was  a  suspicion  that  it  might  suit 
Desire's  arrangements  too  well  if  he  did. 

Lady  Quebell  was  ignorant  of  what  had  occurred  in  the 
afternoon,  but  she  guessed  from  his  manner  that  all  was  not 
well.  She  concluded  that  he  had  already  heard  some  of  the 
5  65 


DESIRE 

gossip  that  was  going  round.  And  so  far,  it  seemed,  the 
spell  of  Desire's  personality  had  not  entirely  erased  the 
impression,  but  let  him  have  some  more  of  it  and,  so  she 
believed,  all  might  still  be  well ;  so  she  insisted  on  his  dining 
with  them.  But  in  counting  on  Desire's  fascination  she 
counted  on  what  did  not  exist  that  night.  Desire  was  most 
unbecomingly  dressed,  she  had  unnecessarily  and  inartistically 
powdered  her  face ;  she  seemed  tired,  too,  almost  listless,  her 
usual  exuberant  vitality  eclipsed  into  commonplaceness,  and 
her  conversation  dull  in  the  extreme.  She  did  not  even  take 
an  intelligent  interest  in  what  Gore  said  ;  her  mind  was 
apparently  elsewhere,  and  she  did  not  trouble  to  conceal  the 
fact.  She  did  not  actually  mention  Grimstone  more  than 
once,  but  it  was  clear  to  an  observer  that  a  good  deal  of  her 
conversation  might  have  reference  to  him,  and  her  thoughts 
plainly  were  not  with  her  present  company.  Lady  Quebell, 
having  the  performances  of  the  past  weeks  in  her  mind,  felt 
very  uneasy  and  very  angry.  However,  she  had  one  comfort, 
whatever  Gore's  justifiable  feelings,  he  could  do  little.  Even 
if  his  outraged  sensibilities  or  pride  or  vanity  provoked  him  so 
far  as  to  wish,  in  a  moment  of  irritation,  to  break  the  engage- 
ment, he  could  not  well  do  it.  She  herself  could  make  it 
well  nigh  impossible  for  him  to  do  it  creditably  ;  the  break, 
if  break  there  was  to  be,  must  come  from  Desire.  So  far,  in 
spite  of  her  recent  egregious  and  foolish  conduct,  she  had 
shown  no  signs  of  intending  to  make  it.  It  is  one  thing 
for  an  impulsive  woman  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  over  a 
penniless  and  entirely  ineligible  man,  and  quite  another  to 
throw  over  an  entirely  eligible  and  recognized  lover  for  him, 
and  to  face  the  public  talk  of  breaking  an  engagement  within 
a  few  weeks  of  marriage. 

Lady  Quebell,  thinking  over  these  things,  went  to  bed  com- 
paratively happy,  recollecting,  with  satisfaction,  an  arrange- 

66 


DESIRE 

ment  she  had  made  that  Gore  should  go  to  Hurlingham  with 
them  on  Monday.  Also  of  the  further  arrangement  she  had 
privately  made  that  she  herself  should  lunch  with  friends  and 
join  their  party  to  Hurlingham,  leaving  Gore  and  Desire  to 
come  on  alone.  "  Give  him  enough  of  Desire,"  was  her 
opinion,  "and  the  thing  is  done;  and  let  him  be  seen 
publicly  with  her  again,  and  the  thing  cannot  be  undone." 

But  her  satisfaction  might  have  been  lessened  had  she  seen 
a  letter  Desire  wrote  soon  after  the  Hurlingham  arrangement 
was  made.  It  was  to  the  other  woman,  of  whose  very 
existence  Lady  Quebell  did  not  know,  and  would  have 
reckoned  of  small  importance  if  she  had. 

It  ran  — 

"  Be  somewhere  near  this  house  on  Monday  afternoon.  You 
may  have  to  wait  some  while,  but  have  no  appearance  of 
watching.  When  the  time  arrives,  and  he  comes,  you  should 
have  the  look  of  being  there  by  chance,  and,  if  possible,  not  seeing 
which  house  he  comes  from.  There  is  no  visible  break  yet,  but 
our  relationship  is  strained  and  his  patience  near  snapping  point. 
There  has  been  no  mention  of  you  between  us  ;  I  don't  advise 
there  should  be  any  mention  of  me  between  you,  unless,  of  course, 
he  tells  you  of  his  impending  marriage.  But  I  leave  you  to  cope 
with  your  situation  ;  you  will  be  playing  for  a  big  stake  and 
doubtless  will  know  how  best  to  play." 

Desire  signed  her  name  to  this,  and  also  gave  an  approxi- 
mate time  for  Monday.  Then  she  posted  it  herself,  not 
because  she  distrusted  Barton,  had  she  done  so  the  posting 
would  have  been  highly  unwise,  as  likely  to  give  rise  to 
suspicion,  but  because  she  somehow  felt  ashamed  for  herself 
and  for  Gore,  and  would  not  admit  the  maid  even  to  the 
outskirts  of  this  dethronement. 

On  Monday  Lady  Quebell  betook  herself  to  her  luncheon- 

67 


DESIRE 

party,  and  afterwards  to  Hurlingham,  in  peace  of  mind. 
Desire,  who  had  kept  her  room  that  morning,  on  a  reputed 
headache,  took  her  lunch  alone.  Gore  had  pleaded  another 
engagement,  and  said  he  would  come  afterwards. 

He  came,  and  found  Desire  in  morning  dress,  her  head 
too  bad  for  Hurlingham.  Too  bad  also,  it  would  seem,  for 
conversation,  for  anything  but  the  quintessence  of  aggrava- 
tion, or  at  least,  so  he  found  it.  She,  when  his  irritation 
became  a  little  apparent,  suggested  he  should  go  to  Hur- 
lingham alone.  He  refused  rather  curtly,  and  in  his  turn 
suggested  she  should  give  him  some  sort  of  explanation  of 
what  he  had  heard. 

*'  An  explanation  ? "  she  said,  with  a  little  weary  move- 
ment. "  I'll  try,  if  you  like,  but  I  warn  you,  I'm  feeling 
terribly  stupid  to-day.  What  am  I  to  explain  ?  Something 
unpleasant,  I  suppose,  since  you  seem  so — no,  I  won't  say 
bad-tempered,  though  it's  a  fact." 

Gore  frowned.  "  I  should  like  to  know  the  meaning  of 
the  talk  I  have  heard — the  talk  about  you." 

"  My  dear  man,"  the  flippancy  of  her  tone  jarred  with  the 
gravity  of  his,  "  what  a  preposterous  request !  You  seem  to 
have  forgotten  in  your  voyaging  on  the  high  seas  that  we 
never  talk  when  we  have  anything  to  say,  and  always  talk 
when  we  have  nothing.  I  couldn't  possibly  tell  you  what 

I  meant  by  what  I  said,  and  as  for  what  other  people  do " 

she  spread  out  her  hands  helplessly. 

The  frown  deepened  on  Gore's  face.  "  This  is  mere 
quibbling,"  he  said.  "  You  must  know  to  what  I  refer;  you 
must  be  aware  of  what  is  being  said  about  you." 

<c  According  to  my  step-mother,"  Desire  returned,  "  hun- 
dreds of  things  are  said  about  me  every  day  ;  I  must  be, 
according  to  her,  the  most  thought  of,  talked  of,  considered 
person  in  town.  But  I'm  not,  you  know  j  I  don't  suppose 

68 


DESIRE 

what  I  do  interests  any  one  :  it  interests  her,  of  course,  when 
it  displeases  her,  it  is  then  that  I  bulk  largely  in  her  mind, 
and  then,  poor  dear,  she  makes  the  mistake  of  thinking  I 
must  in  other  people's  too.  Perhaps  that  is  what  has 
occurred  to  you  ? " 

"  I  am  naturally  interested  in  what  you  do,"  he  said,  <c  and 
not  unnaturally  displeased  with  what  I  have  heard." 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  Desire  exclaimed  with  impatience.  "  What 
have  you  heard  ?  Do  for  goodness'  sake  say  what  you  want 
to  say  and  have  done  with  it  !  What  have  I  been  doing  ? 
Cheating,  stealing,  committing  adultery  ?  " 

Gore  had  never  before  seen  Desire's  good-humour  and 
imperturbable  calm  shaken.  He  did  not  appreciate  it  now. 

"  Grimstone "  he  began,  but,  with  a  whirl  of  passion, 

she  cut  him  short. 

"  Grimstone,  is  it  ?  A  man  who  has  got  brain,  who  has 
got  character,  who  is  above  the  common  ruck  and  not  under- 
stood by  them  !  Well,  he's  my  friend,  if  that  is  what  you 
want  to  know,  and  I  hope  he  always  will  be.  Will  that 
satisfy  you  ?  " 

«  No." 

She  pushed  the  smelling  bottle,  ostentatiously  placed~at 
her  elbow,  from  her,  as  if  seeking  more  room.  "  Oh, 
Lord  !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  concentrated  irritation,  "  what 
does  the  man  want  ?  I  can't  explain  him  away,  if  that's 
what  you  want — and  I  wouldn't  if  I  could.  But  go  on,  ask 
me  questions,  I'll  answer  you  if  I  can;  I  should  think_a 
catechism  would  best  meet  your  requirements." 

Gore  rose.  "  I  think  it  would  perhaps  be  better  if  I  were 
to  go,"  he  said  stiffly. 

Desire  rose  with  alacrity.  "  Well,  if  you  really  must," 
she  said,  with  a  disconcertingly  sudden  cheerfulness  of 
tone. 

69 


DESIRE 

u  See  you  to-night,  perhaps,"  she  said  carelessly  ;  "  I  go 
to  the  St.  Justs'  for  bridge,  do  you  ?  And  on  to  the 
Beauforts'  afterwards — if  my  head's  better  ;  I  think  I  shall 
lie  down  and  take  care  of  it  for  a  while  ;  I  must  go  to  the 
Beauforts'  anyhow — I " 

She  did  not  say  she  had  promised  to  meet,  or  agreed  to 
take,  Peter  Grimstone  there,  but  Gore  was  perfectly  convinced 
that  was  the  case.  His  manner  became  stifFer  and  more 
distant  than  ever,  also  more  dignified  as  he  remembered  the 
social  unimportance — a  matter  which  weighed  much  with 
him — which  gossip  ascribed  to  this  man.  "  I  am  to 
understand,"  he  said,  "  that  you  would  rather  rest  now,  in 
preparation  for  the" — he  wanted  to  say  meeting,  but  did 
just  say — "  entertainment — this  evening  than  give  me  any 
sort  of  explanation  of  your  proceedings  ?  " 

It  was  very  clear  that  he  might  understand  this ;  Desire 
let  him  do  so  in  no  propitiatory  way.  In  a  short  time  he 
took  his  departure,  he  had  not  been  invited  to  sit  down  again, 
though  during  the  few  minutes  he  stood  Desire  contrived  to 
be  supremely  irritating  and  unpleasant  before  she  finally 
dismissed  him. 

"Good-bye,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  touch  of  the  flippancy  ; 
"  and  when  you  come  out  to-night  do  let  me  advise  you  to 
leave  the  grand  seigneur  manner  at  home,  such  wonderful 
seriousness  is  quite  out  of  fashion  now  ;  no  one  has  time 
to  do  anything  but  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry  now,  you 
know." 

He  bowed  stiffly.  "  Good-bye,"  he  said,  and  shut  the 
door  after  him. 

She  glanced  at  the  clock  ;  she  had  glanced  covertly 
once  before  now,  as  he  left  her  she  glanced  openly  ;  it  was 
not  much  after  the  hour  she  had  appointed.  He  went 
down-stairs,  she  listened  till  her  straining  ears  caught  the 

70 


DESIRE 

quiet  closing  of  the  hall  door.  He  had  gone  now.  She 
leaned  back  and  shut  her  eyes,  very  much  as  if  she  were  in 
the  stress  of  the  neuralgic  pain  she  had  earlier  claimed. 
They  would  be  meeting  soon,  somewhere  near  ;  she,  the 
other  woman,  would  not  miss  him,  her  whole  soul,  her  life 
almost  was  in  the  matter,  she  would  not  miss.  Desire  did 
not  know  where  they  would  meet,  she  had  no  wish  to  know 
or  see,  had  she  by  an  impossible  accident  been  by  when  they 
met  she  would  have  turned  away,  she  would  have  gone 
into  a  shop,  a  public-house,  a  hovel,  anywhere  to  hide 
herself.  Even  here,  alone,  a  glow  of  shame  spread  over  her, 
not  shame  for  herself  exactly,  certainly  not  for  the  other 
woman,  rather  for  Gore,  and  for  human  nature  through 
him. 

"  Edith,"  that  was  her  name,  he  would  say  "  Edith  !  "  in 
complete  astonishment  and  perhaps  at  the  moment  almost 
fear.  He  would  glance  round,  and  then,  in  the  face  of  her 
apparent  ignorance,  recover  and  draw  her  to  some  less 
conspicuous  spot.  He  would  excuse  himself  perhaps  and  be 
awkward  ;  but  she  would  be  gentle  and  unconscious,  not 
regretful  or  resentful  or  anything  but  glad  to  see  him.  He 
would  be  relieved  ;  he  would  find  relief  and  comfort  in  her 
company ;  her  sympathy  would  be  balm  to  him  ;  her 
gentleness  rouse  his  shamed  chivalry.  Before  they  were 
aware  of  it  they  would  begin  to  walk  together  ;  they  would 
speak  of  his  health,  his  journey,  his  long  absence — safe 
things,  soothing  things  for  one  who  had  been  jarred  on  as 
he  had.  She  would  know  how  to  soothe,  this  Edith  who 
loved  ;  she  would  be  tactful,  sympathetic,  she  would  humble 
herself  in  heart  and  soul,  hiding  her  knowledge  and  her 
hurt,  striving  only  to  win  him  back.  He  would  say 
nothing  of  his  impending  marriage,  he  had  not  the  courage 
before,  he  would  not  have  now  ;  he  would  not  have  the 

71 


DESIRE 

mental  courage,  either,  to  repulse  the  woman  he  had  loved — 
did  love  still  ?  The  better  of  him  might  protest  against  the 
duplicity,  but  the  better  would  also  crave  for  her  company 
in  rebound  from  the  company  he  had  just  left.  For  a 
little  he  might  waver  but  in  the  end  he  would  go  with  her  ; 
he  would  argue  that  there  was  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
recapture  one  hour  of  their  old  restful  happiness.  They 
would  drive  away  together.  Where  ?  Perhaps  to  her  home 
— his  home — the  child's  home  ! 

A  spasm  of  pain  contracted  Desire's  face,  and  for  a  little 
she  lay  back  quite  still,  her  strong  fingers  crushing  a  fold  of 
her  dress. 

After  a  little  she  opened  her  eyes  and,  though  her  mouth 
still  twitched  a  little,  they  held  again  the  half-whimsical,  half- 
amused  look  with  which  she  fronted  most  of  the  happenings 
of  her  life. 

"  You  are  a  fool,  my  friend,"  so  she  told  herself;  "  he  isn't 
worth  it,  and  she  isn't  worth  it,  and  you  aren't  worth  it, 
nothing  is.  A  fool,  a  fool,  a  fool  !  " 

She  took  up  The  Dreamer^  which  had  been  lying 
ostentatiously  open  at  her  elbow  when  Gore  came  in. 
"  Let  us  retire  to  the  world  of  Never  Was  and  Never  Will 
Be,  with  one  who  has  nothing  to  do  with  Things-as-they- 
are." 


CHAPTER  V 

ALEXANDER  GRIMSTONE  came  home  in  March.  He  had 
apparently  been  expected  for  some  days  before  he  came,  quite 
how  many  Mrs.  Grimstone  did  not  know,  she  only  knew 
what  her  husband  told  her — briefly,  that  he  was  coming. 
She  was  much  astonished  by  the  news,  but,  taught  by  past 
experience,  did  not  ask  any  useless  questions.  It  was  enough 
for  her  that  he  was  coming,  that  she  should  see  him  again, 
and  probably  soon  see  the  wife  over  whom  the  quarrel  had 
been  begun  eight  years  ago,  and  the  two  children,  her  grand- 
children, who  were  strangers  to  her.  She  was  happy  in  the 
thought,  and  made  what  preparations  she  could.  She  could 
not  kill  the  fatted  calf,  for  she  did  not  know  for  which  meal 
to  have  it  dressed,  but  she  put  fine  linen  sheets  upon  the  best 
spare  bed,  and  pictured  to  herself  over  and  over  again  the 
manner  of  Alexander's  return.  She  did  not,  of  course,  know 
what  was  bringing  him,  whether  the  initial  move  was  made 
by  him  or  by  her  husband  ;  but  her  pictures  of  his  return 
all  had  reference  to  repentant  sons  and  forgiving  fathers  and 
misunderstandings  cleared  away.  They  overlooked  such 
characteristics  as  mutual  obstinacy  and  mutual  cold-hearted- 
ness  ;  and  also  overlooked  the  fact  that  Alexander,  who  at 
the  time  of  the  quarrel  had  been  turned  out  to  shift  for  him- 
self, had  succeeded  in  shifting  very  well — a  thing  liable  to 
make  a  difference  to  repentance  in  some  people. 

For  two  days  Mrs.  Grimstone  wove  her  pictures  ;  but 
nothing  happened,  there  was  no  sign  of  Alexander  and  no 

73 


DESIRE 

word  about  him.  She  was  rather  puzzled,  for,  from  what 
her  husband  said,  she  had  concluded  that  he  would  come  at 
once,  any  time  ;  she  kept  hot  bottles  in  the  spare  bed  and 
wondered  to  herself;  then,  on  the  morning  of  the  third  day, 
she  asked  her  husband  when  he  expected  Alexander.  He 
told  her  that  he  had  not  the  slightest  idea.  Yet,  from  his 
manner,  she  felt  sure  that  he,  like  herself,  had  expected  him 
earlier.  Wisely,  however,  she  did  not  say  so. 

The  day  wore  through,  a  cold  grey  day  it  was,  with 
occasional  squalls  of  rain  on  a  high  wind — too  wet  and  windy 
for  any  one,  like  Mrs.  Grimstone,  bronchially  inclined,  to  go 
out.  It  was  rather  a  long  day,  but  the  old  lady,  with  patient 
briskness,  went  about  small  household  tasks.  Towards  night 
the  wind  dropped  and  it  became  very  quiet,  so  quiet  that  one 
could  hear  steps  a  good  way  off ;  Mrs.  Grimstone  found  her- 
self listening  for  steps  as  she  sat  by  the  fire  mending.  It 
was  very  absurd,  of  course,  but  she  found  herself  doing  it, 
though  the  very  few  that  came  along  never  stopped  there. 

Supper  was  at  nine  at  the  Grimstones',  and  probably 
always  would  be  so  long  as  Ezra  Grimstone  lived  ;  the  house- 
hold being  ordered  on  the  lines  which  found  favour  with  the 
Medes  and  Persians,  where  the  laws  alter  not.  On  this  par- 
ticular night  Ezra  and  his  wife  sat  down  as  usual,  one  at 
each  end  of  the  table,  and  as  usual  sat  in  silence.  People 
who  have  been  married  thirty  odd  years  and  started  without 
an  interest  in  common  seldom  have  much  to  say  to  each 
other,  unless  they  belong  to  a  class  who  practise  polite  con- 
versation in  private.  Once,  as  Mrs.  Grimstone  glanced  across 
at  the  stern  face  opposite,  she  wondered  if  her  husband  were 
thinking  of  the  son  who  had  not  returned  ;  but  there  was 
nothing  to  indicate  it,  and  the  thought  was  soon  banished 
from  her  mind  by  momentary  annoyance  with  Mary,  who 
had  brought  in  the  wrong  dish. 

74 


DESIRE 

It  was  just  at  that  minute,  almost  the  only  one  in  the  past 
three  days  when  he  was  not  uppermost  in  her  thoughts,  that 
Alexander  came. 

He  walked  in  much  as  if  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing 
so  every  day,  and  as  if  he  had  walked  out  not  longer  ago 
than  this  morning.  There  was  no  surprise,  no  emotion  ; 
even  in  Mrs.  Grimstone's  mind — so  strong  was  the  influence 
about  her — there  was  no  emotion,  her  dominant  feeling  was 
regret  that  she  had  not  prepared  a  finer  supper. 

She  did  rise  impulsively  and  exclaim,  "  Oh,  Alexander  ! " 

But  he  only  replied,  "Well,  mother,"  and  kissed  her 
lightly  before  she  was  fairly  out  of  her  chair  and  long  before 
she  could  put  her  arms  about  his  neck — if  she  had  any 
thought  of  doing  so. 

Then  he  shook  hands  with  his  father.  "  Sorry  I'm  late," 
he  said ;  "  I  had  to  see  a  man  in  the  town  on  business,  and  it 
took  longer  than  I  expected." 

The  father  merely  nodded,  and  Alexander  sat  down  in  the 
place  that  used  to  be  his.  Mrs.  Grimstone  plied  him  with 
food,  and  did  her  best  to  make  him  welcome.  He  told  her 
not  to  trouble,  and  helped  himself,  much  as  if  his  usual  place 
were  at  that  table.  He  had  a  good  appetite,  but  in  spite  of 
that  and  the  start  his  father  and  mother  had  had,  he  was 
easily  done  first ;  he  ate  as  he  talked,  fast,  faster  than  the 
average,  and  as  one  who  thought  anything  more  leisurely  a 
waste  of  time. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  longed  to  ask  after  her  little-known 
daughter-in-law,  and  even  more  after  the  children,  but  she 
was  afraid  in  her  husband's  company.  She  had  to  content 
herself  with  inquiries  after  Alexander's  health,  which  was 
obviously  very  good,  and  remarks  concerning  her  own  which 
did  not  greatly  interest  him.  The  father  and  son  spoke  a 
little  together  on  impersonal  topics,  rather  as  might  two  un- 

75 


DESIRE 

sociable  strangers  who  are  thrown  together  at  an  hotel  table. 
Mrs.  Grimstone,  listening,  glanced  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  noticed,  without  understanding,  the  changes  time  had 
made  in  Alexander.  He  was  a  little  like  his  father  in  some 
ways,  but  with  several  marked  differences,  the  most  striking 
being  the  eyes,  which  in  him  were  over-near  together  and  of 
the  opaque  hardness  of  stone.  He  was  a  good  deal  fairer 
than  his  father,  too,  having  the  greyish-yellow  colouring  of 
some  animal.  There  was  nothing  in  his  appearance  to 
suggest  the  repentant  son  ;  and  nothing,  it  must  be  admitted, 
in  the  elder  man's  to  suggest  the  forgiving  father. 

At  last  supper  was  finished,  and  Mary,  the  elderly  servant, 
accompanied  by  Robert  her  husband,  came  in  for  prayers. 
The  old  man  fetched  a  Bible,  and  let  it,  perhaps  by  chance, 
fall  open  at  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son,  as  he  put  it 
before  his  master.  Mr.  Grimstone  turned  back  the  leaves 
till  he  came  to  the  place  where  he  left  off  reading  last  night. 
It  was  the  prophet  Jeremiah's  reproof  to  an  unrepentant  and 
backsliding  generation.  He  read  a  passage  in  a  level  voice, 
and  afterwards  they  all  knelt  down,  and  from  another  book 
he  read  a  prayer.  It  was  a  formal  prayer,  and  he  read  it 
formally  ;  only  once  did  a  trace  of  feeling  creep  for  a  moment 
into  his  voice — when  the  text  contained  a  supplication  that 
all  present  might  be  brought  to  right  courses  and  kept  therein. 
But  no  one  observed  him,  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  surreptitiously 
wiping  her  eyes,  moved  less  by  the  occasion  than  by  her  own 
previous  pictures  of  it — and  Alexander  was  thoughtfully 
picking  his  teeth. 

When  the  prayer  was  concluded  they  all  rose,  and  Mr. 
Grimstone  asked  his  son  to  come  with  him  to  his  office. 
Mrs.  Grimstone  hesitated  a  moment  ;  but  no  one  invited 
her  to  come — evidently  no  one  thought  of  her — so  she  re- 
mained where  she  was,  rather  wistfully  looking  after  them. 

76 


DESIRE 

Would  the  reconciliation,  the  real  reconciliation,  take  place 
now  ?  She  wondered — was  sure — was  doubtful — and  sure 
again.  She  wished  so  she  could  help,  not  so  much  for 
Alexander's  sake.  She  had  never  felt  much  more  for 
Alexander  than  the  parent  animal's  instinct  for  its  young — 
it  is  doubtful  if  any  woman  could  have  done — and  though 
the  eight  years'  absence  had  obliterated  the  memory  of  some 
of  his  unlovable  ways,  it  had  not  really  increased  her  affection, 
whatever  she  might  for  the  moment  think.  But  for  the  sake 
of  the  children,  her  grandchildren  whom  she  had  never  held 
in  her  arms,  she  could  have  forgiven  him  anything.  If  only 
Ezra  felt  the  same  !  For  a  little  after  the  two  left  her  she 
stood  listening ;  once  she  was  almost  inclined  to  follow  un- 
invited, in  the  hope  of  helping  to  ratify  the  peace  which 
might  or  might  not  be  made.  But  she  did  not,  the  habit  of 
submission  kept  her  where  she  was  ;  and  common-sense 
warned  her,  too,  that  though  there  was  a  chance  that  father 
and  son  might  not  come  to  terms,  there  was  no  chance  at  all 
of  her  being  able  to  help  them.  So  she  sat  down  again  and 
took  up  her  mending,  while  Mary  cleared  the  table  and  com- 
mented, with  the  familiarity  of  long  service,  on  Alexander 
and  the  changes  she  observed  in  him. 

But  in  the  small  room  at  the  back  the  father  and  son  were 
not  talking  of  reconciliation,  such  a  thing,  in  the  emotional 
sense  of  the  word,  was  not  in  the  power  of  either  of  them. 
What  they  spoke  of  was  a  commercial  understanding,  a 
species  of  business  treaty  which,  it  is  true,  some  might  mistake 
for  a  form  of  reconciliation.  Ezra  Grimstone  had  sent  for 
his  son  to  make  him  an  offer  :  to  take  him  into  the  little  old 
firm  of  Grimstone  &  Son  ;  to  ignore  the  eight  years'  absence, 
and  the  quarrel  which  had  preceded  it,  and  the  accumulated 
differences  which  had  preceded  that ;  not  to  forgive  or  to  forget 
them,  but  to  ignore  them  in  the  commercial  relationship. 

77 


DESIRE 

That  was  the  offer  ;  not  magnificent  pecuniarily,  perhaps, 
for  the  firm  of  Grimstone  &  Son  was  very  small.  Ezra 
Grimstone  was  a  potter,  as  his  father  and  grandfather  had 
been  before  him,  though  he  was  not  of  what  is  considered 
the  true  potter  breed.  The  first  Ezra  was  not  a  native 
born,  and  the  family,  in  spite  of  the  work,  had  never  really 
amalgamated  with  the  potter  caste,  but  kept  much  to  itself, 
mixing  little.  In  the  far-off  time  of  the  first  Ezra,  which 
had  been  the  time  of  small  concerns  and  working  masters, 
the  firm  had  counted  for  something.  In  these  days  of  large 
concerns,  with  their  eight  or  ten  ovens,  rotary  kilns,  and 
several  hundred  hands,  it  counted  for  little  more  than  a 
curious  survival.  It  paid  still,  even  though  it  was  situated 
some  way  from  a  railway — it  had  been  built  in  the  days 
when  water  was  the  highway — but  it  was  in  no  way 
important.  To  Ezra,  however,  it  was  everything  ;  he  had 
worked  in  it  and  lived  with  it  as  his  father  and  grandfather 
had ;  it  was  all  his  life,  as  it  had  been  all  theirs.  To  him 
the  continuity  of  the  pottery  was  as  the  continuity  of  the 
name  to  a  great  family,  perhaps  more,  for  he  had  nothing 
else  besides.  For  its  sake  he  had  made  this  overture  to 
Alexander,  a  thing  he  would  not  have  brought  himself  to 
do  for  his  own  sake  or  his  wife's,  or  Alexander's,  or  the 
grandchildren's,  or  anything  in  the  world.  For  the  sake  of 
Grimstone  &  Son  he  had  sent  for  him,  for,  whatever  else 
Alexander  was,  he  was  the  man  to  carry  on  the  business. 
He  had  sent  for  him,  and  to-night  he  made  him  the  offer. 

And  Alexander  said  nothing.  Even  when  the  offer  was 
made  he  sat  quite  still  a  moment,  a  thing  rare  with  him,  for 
he  was  a  curiously  restless  person.  Whether  the  proposal 
surprised  him  or  not  did  not  appear,  like  all  the  Grimstones 
his  face  masked  his  feelings  well ;  but  he  eyed  his  father 
once  or  twice  as  if  seeking  to  find  if  he  had  any  ulterior 

78 


DESIRE 

motive.  He  passed  his  hand  over  his  long  chin,  a  habit  he 
had  when  he  was  approaching  anything  warily. 

"  How  do  you  stand  r "  he  asked.  "  The  books — have 
you  got  them  handy  ?  " 

The  elder  man  nodded.  "  You  are  cautious  of  accepting 
a  gift,"  he  said,  "  but  you  never  were  great  at  either  giving 
or  receiving." 

"  No,"  Alexander  said  carelessly,  and  did  not  add,  as  he 
perhaps  might,  that  the  characteristic  was  inherited.  He 
stretched  his  legs  before  the  cold  grate.  "  I  take  it,"  he 
said,  "  the  proposal  is  in  the  way  of  business  ? " 

Ezra  did  not  answer,  he  was  unlocking  a  safe  in  the 
corner  ;  from  it  he  took  books,  which  he  carried  to  the  high 
desk. 

Alexander  rose  and  came  to  examine  them,  and  his  father 
drew  away. 

For  a  little  there  was  silence  except  for  the  turning  of 
leaves.  Ezra  had  taken  his  son's  place  in  the  black  leather 
chair  now  ;  unlike  him  it  was  natural  to  him  to  sit  very  still, 
he  sat  so  now,  watching  the  long  back  of  the  younger  man 
as  he  stooped  to  examine  the  entries. 

At  last  Alexander  closed  the  books  and  pushed  them  from 
him.  "You  seem  to  be  holding  your  own  still,"  he  said, 
almost  as  if  he  thought  it  rather  strange. 

The  elder  Grimstone  put  the  books  away  without  speak- 
ing j  when  that  was  done  he  turned  to  his  son.  "  Well  r " 
he  said  curtly.  "  You  are  satisfied  as  to  the  position,  and 
you  hear  what  I  offer  j  what's  your  answer  ?  " 

"I'm  considering,"  Alexander  said,  leaning  back  against 
the  mantelpiece  and  picking  his  teeth  again. 

"  Considering  ! "  Ezra's  voice  for  a  moment  lost  its 
distant  coldness  and  rang  sharp.  "  It's  a  new  thing  for  a 
son  of  Grimstones' — and  such  a  son — to  consider  whether 

79 


DESIRE 

he  shall  come  into  the  pottery  or  not.     One  would  think  I 
was  asking  you  a  favour  !  " 

"  Not  they  !  No  one  who  knew  us  would  think  it,  we 
don't  deal  in  favours,  this  is  business  pure  and  simple." 

"  Poor  business  on  your  part,"  the  father  said,  "  if  it 
takes  you  so  long  to  decide  if  you'll  have  something  for 
nothing." 

"One's  got  to  make  sure  just  what  the  something  is," 
Alexander  told  him.  "Oh,  I  know  your  opinion' of  the  firm 
of  Grimstone  —  it's  natural,  of  course,  though  not  neces- 
sarily right  on  that  account.  But  outside  this  house — I 
don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings — but  outside  the  opinion's 
not  the  same.  What  is  Grimstones'  to  the  average  man  ? 
A  two-man-and-a-boy  affair,  a  one-kiln  curiosity  where  they 
can  turn  out  five  crates  a  week.  It  makes  a  profit,  I  know, 
a  small  one,  just  enough  to  keep  going.  It  has  a  good  name, 
too,  and  a  decent  connection  of  sorts,  something  might  be 

done  with  it,   but  at  present Why,  my  own  show's 

much  bigger,  my  turn-over's  a  lot  more." 

The  elder  Grimstone's  eyes  gleamed,  but  he  kept  himself 
in  hand.  cc  You  are  a  tradesman,"  he  said,  "  and  if  all 
that  is  reported  is  true,  not  too  honest  a  one  in  all  your 
dealings." 

"  We're  all  in  trade,"  his  son  answered  carelessly.  "  I 
buy  and  sell  pots,  you  make  'em,  there  isn't  much  difference, 
and  we  all  make  what  profit  we  can.  By  the  way,  I'm 
trying  a  new  line,  something  more  in  your  way  :  we  do  a 
bit  of  decorating  at  my  place  now.  There  is  something  in 
that — buy  pots  cheap  and  decorate  'em  yourself — don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  Ezra  said  coldly. 

"  And  don't  want  to  ? "  Alexander  inquired  with  a  little 
amusement.  "  But  you  will — that  is,  if  we  amalgamate." 

80 


DESIRE 

i 

"  We  are  not  going  to  amalgamate." 

«  Not  r  " 

"  Certainly  not.  That  is  not  what  I  offer.  My  offer  is 
that  you  join  me  as  I  joined  my  father,  and  he  joined  his. 
That  Grimstone  &  Son  is  Grimstone  &  Son,  as  it  always 
has  been,  and  always  will  be." 

This  interpretation  of  the  offer  had  never  occurred  to 
Alexander,  and  for  a  moment  he  could  hardly  realize  it,  it 
was  so  altogether  absurd. 

"  You  don't  mean  that  ?  "  he  said.  "  Why,  it's  madness  ! 
What  about  the  business  I  have  built  up  ?  If  it  is  not  to  be 
amalgamated,  what  do  you  propose  I  should  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Anything  you  choose — sell  it,  wind  it  up — do  what  you 
please,  but  get  rid  of  it  before  you  come  to  me." 

"  Get  rid  of  it  ?     Get  rid  of  it  ? " 

"  Certainly  ;  get  rid  of  it,  and  hope  that  you  may  get 
rid  of  the  name  you  have  begun  to  get  in  it.  I  don't  say 
anything  about  your  ways  of  doing  business.  I  have  heard  of 
them,  of  course,  and  I  may  regret  them  as  I  may  regret  your 
choice  of  a  wife  and  your  want  of  religion  ;  but  I  can't  undo 
what's  done.  This  is  all  I  have  to  say — I  am  ready  to 
overlook  that,  and  have  you  here  in  a  son's  place,  but  on 
the  'understanding  that  you  wind  up  your  present  concern, 
dispose  of  your  capital  how  you  like — I  won't  have  it — and 
come  to  me  with  empty  hands  and  an  intention  of  keeping 
them  clean." 

Alexander  drew  in  his  breath  in  almost  a  whistle  ;  the 
folly  of  his  father's  words  was  such  to  him  that  it  made  him 
for  a  moment  forget  to  notice  the  slight  on  his  integrity 
that  they  held.  To  refuse  to  amalgamate,  to  refuse  the  new 
young  business,  to  refuse  even  the  capital  it  might  represent. 
It  was  incredible  !  To  imagine  for  an  instant  that  he, 
Alexander,  would  think  of  acquiescing  in  such  an  arrange- 
6  81 


DESIRE 

ment  was  an  insult  to  his  intelligence — as  big  an  insult  as 
the  comments  on  his  ways  of  doing  business  (which  certainly- 
had  been  near  the  wind,  but  had  always  come  off  safely). 
He  was  for  a  moment  really  roused  ;  nevertheless,  when  he 
spoke  it  was  with  no  contemptuous  or  angry  expression  of 
outraged  dignity,  for,  above  all  things,  he  loved  money,  and 
he  seldom  lost  his  head  or  his  temper  where  it  was  con- 
cerned. He  saw  advantages  to  himself  in  a  treaty — on 
rational  terms,  of  course — with  his  father,  advantages  greater 
than  the  elder  man  could.  He  believed  that  the  union  once 
made  and  himself  fairly  in  power  at  the  little  old  pottery,  as 
well  as  in  his  own  business,  the  way  to  fortune  would  be  com- 
paratively cleared  to  him  and  his  pace  along  it  accelerated. 
Therefore,  having  no  wish  to  refuse  his  father's  offer  entirely, 
and  no  intention  of  giving  up  his  own  concern,  he  spoke 
cautiously  and  with  moderation.  He  argued  for  the  amal- 
gamation, pointing  out  such  advantages  as  he  deemed  wise  ; 
without,  however,  showing  undue  anxiety  for  it,  or  letting 
it  be  seen  that  he  had  all  along  meant  to  accept  his  father's 
offer — on  his  own  terms. 

But  in  the  years  that  had  passed  since  he  and  his  father 
had  discussed  any  affair  he  had  forgotten  two  things — the 
immovableness  of  his  father's  prejudices,  and  the  fact  that 
they  two  had  never  been  able  to  get  on  the  dark  side  of  each 
other.  In  vain  did  he  put  his  case  speciously,  and  explain 
his  own  past  proceedings  and  condemned  methods  with 
ingenuity  and  a  fine  frankness.  He  might  just  as  well 
have  made  his  statement  baldly,  the  older  man  followed  the 
working  of  his  mind  perfectly  and  did  not  alter  his  own  a 
hair's-breadth. 

With  complete  obstinacy  Ezra  held  to  his  original  offer. 
"  Either,"  he  said,  <c  you  come  on  my  terms  or  you  don't 
come  at  all.  You  are  surprised  ?  You  always  thought 

82 


DESIRE 

money  everything,  you  think  so  now,  I  suppose  ?  Thought 
you  would  come  to  me  on  your  own  terms  with  your 
capital,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  it  ?  But  I  tell  you, 
such  capital  is  dross  to  me,  husks — yes,  husks,  as  if  when 
the  prodigal  son  arose  and  went  to  his  father  he  took  a 
bushel  of  the  swine's  husks  with  him." 

Alexander  bit  his  lip,  nothing  but  his  keen  eye  for 
pecuniary  advantage  kept  his  tongue  under  any  sort  of  con- 
trol. "  We'd  better  stick  to  trade,"  he  said  curtly,  "  if  you 
start  in  with  Bible  parables  we  shall  get  no  further.  Though, 
let  me  tell  you  while  you  are  on  the  parable  tack,  that,  even 
if  you  do  believe  you  feel  like  the  biblical  father,  I  don't 
pretend  to  feel  like  the  repentant  son.  Also,  you  might  bear 
in  mind,  that  it  was  you  who  said  *  come,'  not  I  who  said 
*  I  will  go,'  in  this  case." 

"  I  know  I  did,"  Ezra  returned.  "  I  did  it  for  the  pottery 
— I  want  nothing  of  you  myself,  seeing  the  way  you  think 
and  act  and  have  acted,  you  can  be  no  son  to  me.  It  was 
not  for  that  I  sent  for  you,  and  it  was  not  for  that  you  came. 
But  there  is  the  pottery,  you  are  wanted  there ;  Ezra  is 
dead,  Peter  is  no  use  ;  you  are  of  use,  you  are  the  one  who 
must  come  after  me  if  Grimstone  &  Son  is  to  go  on  and  not 
die  out  when  I  die." 

There  was  a  subdued  passion  in  his  voice  which,  plainer 
than  words,  showed  Alexander  the  strength  of  his  position. 
He  himself  had  no  more  feeling  for  the  little  old  firm  than 
for  his  father  ;  but  he  saw,  probably  for  the  first  time,  the 
depth  of  his  father's  feeling  for  it,  and  seeing  determined  to 
profit  and  to  hold  out  for  his  own  terms. 

"  As  father,"  the  elder  man  was  saying,  "  I  have  nothing 
for  you  ;  you  married  against  my  wish — a  shallow,  shiftless 
fool  with  a  little  money  to  her  name,  and  it  was  the  money 
which  took  you,  not  the  fool.  You  thwarted  me  at  every 

83 


DESIRE 

turn,  you  scoffed  at  what  I  hold  to,  you  ran  counter  to  me 
where  you  could.  You  are  a  stranger  to  me,  neither  you 
nor  I  wish  anything  else,  we  do  not  pretend  about  it.  But 
as  Ezra  Grimstone,  the  third  Grimstone,  I  have  this  for  you 
— you  can  come  back  and  join  me  as  I  joined  my  father. 
As  I  joined  him,  mind — not  otherwise.  Those  are  my 
terms." 

Alexander  laughed,  a  short  loud  laugh,  not  infectious. 
"  Your  terms  are  too  high,"  he  said,  and  felt  for  a  cigarette. 

Ezra  eyed  him  over,  and  his  eyes  were  very  cold.  "  You 
refuse  ?  "  he  asked  quietly. 

"  To  bind  myself  to  make  pots  with  old  Robert  and  a  boy 
for  the  rest  of  my  life  ?  Yes,  I  do." 

He  held  the  cigarette-case  for  a  moment,  but  did  not  open 
it,  the  old  stringent  rules  against  promiscuous  smoking  still 
had  an  unconscious  influence.  "  Is  it  likely,"  he  asked, 
"  that  a  man  of  my  age,  and  one  who  you  say  yourself  has 
some  capacity,  is  going  to  be  content  with  that  sort  of  job, 
little  better  than  the  job  of  a  labourer  at  thirty  bob  a  week, 
in  a  little  pot-bank  in  his  own  backyard,  all  because  his 
grandfather  and  great-grandfather  did  before  him  ?  It's  not 
good  enough.  I'm  going  to  make  money  ;  I  am  making  it 
now,  but  I'd  make  it  quicker  if  I  joined  up  with  you,  we'd 
make  it  together.  We'd  run  the  old  place  more  or  less  on 
the  old  lines — if  you  liked,  you  could  run  it  if  it's  your  hobby, 
but  we'd  couple  it,  at  all  events — couple  the  name  up  with 
with  several  new  things,  and  you  may  bet  they'd  pay." 

"  Then  you  refuse  ? "  Ezra  repeated  the  question  in  the 
same  level,  emotionless  voice. 

"  I've  told  you  so,  but " 

"  Then  no  more  need  be  said.     Good-night." 

The  voice,  though  still  emotionless,  somehow  cut  off  what 
Alexander  had  to  say,  and  with  a  sharp  finality.  For  a 

84 


DESIRE 

moment  the  younger  man  looked  at  the  elder  uncertainly, 
as  if  in  the  years  which  had  elapsed  since  they  last  did  battle 
he  had  forgotten.  Then  he  turned  away  with  his  short 
laugh  ;  he  remembered,  but  he  did  not  repent ;  he,  too,  had 
learnt  nothing  of  giving  way.  Moreover,  he  lay  this  com- 
fort to  his  mind,  if  he  lost  by  refusal,  the  father  lost  still  more 
— so  much  more  that  he  must  at  some  future  time  be  driven 
to  make  the  offer  again. 

"  Good-night,"  he  said,  and  went  to  the  door. 

Mrs.  Grimstone,  sitting  by  the  parlour  fire,  heard  the  office 
door  open,  heard  steps  in  the  hall,  heard  the  front  door  open 
and  close  again,  and  then  the  dull  rasping  sound  as  the  bolts 
on  the  inner  side  were  shot  home  when  it  was  made  fast  for 
the  night. 

"  Alexander  !  "  she  called. 

There  was  no  answer,  and,  made  bold  by  anxiety,  she 
went  to  look  down  the  hall. 

"  Alexander  !  "  she  said. 

Ezra  Grimstone  rose  from  stooping  to  the  lower  bolt. 
"  Alexander  has  gone,"  he  said. 

"  Gone  !     Isn't  he  going  to  stay  the  night  ? " 

"No." 

"  When  is  he  coming  back  ? " 

"  Never." 

And  Ezra  went  slowly  down  the  hall,  back  to  the  office, 
where  he  went  in  and  shut  the  door. 

Neither  then  nor  later  did  he  tell  his  wife  any  detail  of 
what  had  happened,  or  indeed  make  any  reference  to  it.  It 
might  as  well  have  never  occurred.  Alexander  might  never 
have  come  home  for  all  that  was  said  between  them  about  it. 
Alexander  himself  did  not  write  to  his  mother,  he  sent  no 
line  of  farewell  or  regret  at  not  seeing  her  again.  He  was 
busy,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  him ;  he  felt  no  regret  himself, 

85 


DESIRE 

and  never  thought  of  her  in  the  matter.  Demonstrative 
affection,  like  the  social  amenities,  had  been  entirely  absent 
from  the  boyhood  and  youth  of  the  Grimstones,  a  lack  which 
cold  natures  and  strong  and  energetic  ones  cannot  always 
afford.  The  habit  of  considering  others,  even  when  there  is 
no  heart  in  it,  is  worth  something.  Alexander  had  neither 
the  heart  nor  the  habit,  so  he  wrote  no  word  to  his  mother, 
and  she  had  to  guess  as  much  as  she  could  of  what  had 
happened. 

As  for  Ezra,  he  grew  even  more  silent ;  each  day  seemed 
to  make  him  grimmer  and  graver  and  greyer  ;  she  saw  it 
vaguely  as  Mary  and  Robert  did,  and  was  as  far  from  any 
spoken  confidence  as  they.  Daily  he  worked  as  before, 
longer  hours  rather  than  shorter  ;  but  it  was  as  if  a  frost  was 
on  him  and  on  everything  he  touched. 

Thus  through  the  spring  and  early  summer,  and  on  till 
the  end  of  July,  when  he  was  taken  ill. 

It  was  not  a  serious  illness,  though  it  kept  him  from  work 
a  little  while,  and  would  have  kept  him  longer  had  the  work 
been  further  away  than  his  own  house,  and  his  workman  and 
chief  factotum  any  other  than  Robert.  But  the  illness  did 
two  things.  In  the  first  place  it  gave  Mrs.  Grimstone  the 
opportunity  for  which  she  was  hungering,  of  feeding  and 
caring  for  some  one.  Her  husband  was  not  a  good  subject, 
still  he  bore  her  ministrations  with  patience — more  could 
hardly  be  expected  of  him.  And  in  the  second  it  decided 
Ezra  to  make  some  definite  provision  for  Grimstone  &  Son. 
If  he  died,  and  of  course  he  must  die  some  time,  or  if  he  was 
long  incapacitated  by  illness,  or  in  any  way  forced  to  lose 
his  grip  on  things — and  he  realized  with  a  bitterness  that  was 
almost  humiliation  that  this  was  as  likely  to  befall  him  as 
another — if  any  of  these  things  happened  Alexander  would 
take  for  himself  and  on  his  own  terms  that  which  he  had 

86 


DESIRE 

refused  on  his  father's.  There  was  only  one  way  of  prevent- 
ing it,  some  one  else  must  be  put  in  to  hold  what  Ezra 
prized  when  he  no  longer  could.  But  who  ?  As  he  lay  ill 
he  thought  about  this,  and  about  very  little  else.  He  was  a 
man  practically  without  friends,  and  possessed  of  few  rela- 
tions, none  of  whom  he  thought  anything.  He  had  no  one 
to  put  in  his  place  in  the  pottery  but  Robert,  a  man  almost 
as  old  as  he  was,  and  not  equal  to  dealing  with  Alexander — 
and  Peter,  who  he  himself  had  described  as  no  use. 

Peter  was  no  use,  his  father  had  never  thought  him  so  ; 
for  this  reason  it  had  not  seemed  to  him  important  what  pro- 
fession Peter  followed  so  long  as  it  was  honest.  The  one 
chosen  was  one  of  which  he  had  no  opinion — it  belonged  to 
the  realm  of  play,  not  work,  in  his  estimation.  He  had  not 
interfered  with  Peter's  choice  of  it,  because  he  thought  him 
useless  for  anything  better,  but  the  choice  was  only  a  further 
proof  of  the  uselessness  and  Peter's  recognition  of  it.  Yet  it 
seemed  that  on  this  useless  one  Grimstones'  must  now  fall 
back.  It  was  bitterly  hard,  he  had  no  business  ability,  no 
potter's  instinct,  none  of  the  required  characteristics  ;  but 
there  was  no  one  else.  One  only  quality  useful  to  the  posi- 
tion did  Ezra  recognize,  Peter  would  make  a  fight  to  hold 
his  own  against  Alexander  ;  he  might  or  might  not  do  it, 
but  he  would  make  a  stubborn  fight  for  it.  For  the  rest,  he 
must  himself  try  to  teach  him,  and  endure  how  he  could  the 
incompetency  and  ineptitude. 

He  rang  for  his  wife,  and  ordered  her  to  bring  writing 
materials. 

She  brought  them,  the  ink  with  some  reluctance.  Some 
of  her  fine  linen  sheets  were  on  the  bed,  and  she  was  afraid 
for  them  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  ink-pot. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  easier  for  you  to  write  with  a  pencil  ?" 
she  said. 

87 


DESIRE 

"  Eh  ? "  Ezra  said.  He  was  looking  to  see  if  she  had 
brought  him  the  paper  he  wanted. 

"  You  will  be  careful  of  the  ink,  won't  you,  dear  ? "  she 
ventured. 

"The  ink  ?  Oh  yes.  You  have  not  brought  me  an  envelope. 
Ah,  here's  one.  Well,  address  it  yourself  if  you  like,  and  I 
can  write  the  letter  in  pencil.  Address  it  to  Peter  ;  then  you 
can  go  down-stairs  again.  I  shall  be  some  time  writing. 
Peter  never  had  much  sense,  still  he  is  all  there  is " 

The  last  was  hardly  spoken  to  Mrs.  Grirnstone,  and  she 
did  not  answer  it,  but  it  caught  her  attention.  That  her 
husband  should  write  to  Peter  at  all  caught  her  attention, 
she  could  not  think  what  it  could  be  about.  She  went  down- 
stairs wondering  much  ;  she  was  not  clever,  and  she  had  no 
very  good  clue,  but  like  many  another  simple  woman  she 
sometimes  divined  things  where  her  heart  was  concerned. 
Instinctively  she  felt  that  much  hung  on  this  letter  of  her 
husband's,  and  when  she  felt  that  it  came  to  her,  though  she 
trembled  at  the  boldness  of  the  idea,  that  she  too  must  write. 
She  had  done  nothing  when  Alexander  came  ;  she  stood 
aside,  as  it  seemed  she  ought — and  he  had  come  and  gone. 
Perhaps  she  ought  to  do  nothing  now  ;  perhaps  this  matter 
was  not  the  same,  perhaps  even  it  was  not  really  important. 
Yet  she  would  try.  Peter  was  different  from  Alexander, 
Peter  would  not  laugh  or  mind  if  she  wrote  or  if  she  seemed 
silly.  Writing  was  not  easy  to  her,  at  most  times  a  letter 
was  a  matter  of  composition  needing  thought  and  care,  and 
expressing  little  of  what  she  felt.  Now  there  was  no  time 
for  this,  she  must  pen  a  few  hasty  lines  before  she  was  called 
up-stairs.  She  felt,  almost  guiltily,  that  she  must  get  her 
letter  written  and  out  of  the  house  before  she  saw  her  hus- 
band again.  And  she  did  it,  thus  happening  to  catch  an 
earlier  post  than  he  did. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  FIRM  of  publishers,  old-fashioned  and  of  repute,  had 
written  to  Peter  Grimstone,  saying  in  the  impersonal  way 
used  in  English  houses,  that  they  would  be  glad  to  see  a 
novel  by  him.  If  he  had  written,  was  writing,  or  was  con- 
templating writing  a  second  work  of  fiction  of  not  less  than 
seventy-two  thousand  words  they  would  be  pleased  if  he 
would  give  them  the  opportunity  of  considering  it. 

To  Peter  the  letter  meant  a  great  deal  ;  it  was,  after 
Desire's  appreciation  of  The  Dreamer,  the  most  important 
thing  which  had  happened  since  the  publication  of  the 
book.  He  still  ranked  Desire's  appreciation  first,  not  only 
on  account  of  its  results,  but  because  to  him  it  was  a  wonder- 
ful and  beautiful  thing — as  all  human  sympathy  really  is. 
But  the  publisher's  letter  was  important ;  it  meant  that 
outside  opinion  was  justifying  his  choice  of  a  profession 
(which  mattered  little  to  him),  and  also  that  by  and  by 
perhaps  he  would  be  able  to  give  up  the  side  he  did  not  like, 
and  confine  himself  to  the  side  he  did — which  mattered  a 
great  deal. 

On  the  same  day  that  he  received  this  letter  something 
else  happened,  he  had  a  semi-business  interview  with  the 
important  editor  to  whom  Desire  had  made  efforts  to  intro- 
duce him.  He  had  by  now  seen  the  great  man  once  or 
twice  socially,  but  on  that  particular  evening  he  had  a  semi- 
official interview,  and  one  of  a  most  satisfactory  order.  He 
was  told  to  come  to  the  office  to-morrow  in  working  hours, 
but  in  the  meantime  he  had  to  consider  an  offer,  verbal 


DESIRE 

certainly,  but  really  formal  too,  such  as  was  the  ambition  of 
most  men  in  his  position.  No  wonder,  then,  as  he  walked 
back  to  his  rooms  that  night  he  felt  the  world  was  opening 
before  him.  He  was  not  one  much  given  to  exuberance  or 
excitement,  but  just  for  once  he  felt  a  stir  in  his  blood,  the 
thrill  of  hope  and  power.  His  first  book  was  a  success,  his 
second  well  begun — not  being  written  easily,  still,  being 
written  with  a  certain  mastery  of  the  tools  which  made  even 
difficulties  not  all  bad.  Life  itself  was  widening  to  him, 
there  were  new  powers,  new  sights,  new  things.  Desire 
Quebell  had  done  more  for  him  than  push  The  Dreamer.  To 
serve  herself,  truly,  she  had  done  a  good  deal  for  him  ;  she 
had  shown  him  a  bigger  and  a  fuller  world,  and  not  least  she 
had  admitted  him  into  an  intimacy  with  herself  which  was 
educational  after  a  sort.  Life  held  promise  that  night  when 
Peter  walked  back  to  his  rooms  along  streets,  somewhat  in 
need  of  the  washing^of  the  rain,  which  were  to  him  as  the 
streets  of  the  dream  city  known  only  to  youth. 

He  did  not  exactly  build  air-castles  for  the  future,  he  was 
too  cautious  and  diffident  for  that  ;  he  did  not  exactly  exult 
in  the  share  of  success  that  had  come  to  him,  he  had  too  just 
an  estimate  of  its  actual  value,  too  low  an  opinion  of  his  own 
ability  ;  he  certainly  did  not  fancy  himself  in  love  with 
Desire  Quebell,  or  make  any  mistake  about  her  interest 
in  him.  But  in  some  way  he  appreciated  and  enjoyed  all 
the  promise  of  the  future,  the  fulness  of  the  present,  the 
stirring  power  within  himself.  It  was  to  him  that  night  as 
when  one  has  walked  up  a  steep  way  in  a  grey,  rugged 
country,  and,  coming  suddenly  out  of  the  shadow  at  the  top, 
feels  the  risen  sun  and  sees  spread  all  before  the  world  below. 
Tardily  awakened  youth  stirred  in  his  blood,  and  he,  teetotaler 
in  such  things  by  necessity  as  well  as  by  choice,  tasted  for 
the  first  time  of  the  wine  of  life. 

90 


DESIRE 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  door  of  his  lodgings  he 
wanted  to  share  what  he  could  of  this  good  thing,  wanted  to 
tell  some  one.  Not  Desire,  she  had  never  climbed  the  steep 
grey  way,  she  had  started  with  the  sunshine  and  the  spread 
world  at  the  top,  she  did  not  occur  to  him  as  a  confidante 
now,  only  one  person  did,  his  mother.  She,  of  course,  would 
not  completely  understand,  he  never  imagined  she  would. 
But  many  mothers  have  the  divine  attribute  of  understanding 
by  sympathy  their  children's  feelings  even  when  they  cannot 
by  reason  understand  the  cause  of  them.  It  was  this 
attribute  of  mothers  which  Peter  unconsciously  thought  to 
draw  on  when  he  determined  to  write  to  his  mother  that 
night. 

But  when  he  reached  his  rooms  he  found,  rather  to  his 
surprise,  a  letter  from  her  waiting  for  him.  He  also  found 
the  fox-terrier  Paddy,  who  had  been  out  on  some  expedition 
of  his  own,  and  gone  home  to  Peter  instead  of  to  his  master, 
a  thing  he  not  infrequently  did.  On  these  occasions  he 
usually  managed  to  creep  unobserved  into  the  house  some 
time  when  the  door  was  open,  and,  as  now,  lay  in  wait  in 
a  dark  place  till  he  could  make  himself  known  to  Peter, 
apologize  for  his  appearance,  and  demand  congratulations  on 
his  ingenuity.  Peter  told  the  dog  he  was  a  scoundrel,  and 
at  the  same  time  made  him  welcome  ;  then  he  took  up  the 
letter.  It  was  not  his  mother's  day  for  writing,  she  wrote 
once  a  fortnight ;  never  otherwise,  except  once  when  he  sent 
her  his  book,  it  must  be  something  very  exceptional  which 
made  her  write  now.  For  a  moment  it  flashed  into  his 
mind  that  perhaps  she  had  read  the  book  now  and  wrote  to 
tell  him  her  opinion  of  it,  even  that  hardly  seemed  too 
impossible  a  thing  to-night.  But  the  idea  went  almost  as  it 
came,  for  it  really  was  impossible,  also  the  first  glance  at  the 
letter  assured  him  that  was  not  its  subject. 

91 


DESIRE 

"  Mr  DEAR  PETER"  it  ran, 

"  Tour  father  is  writing  to  you " 

Peter  looked  round,  but  there  was  no  other  letter,  doubtless 
it  would  come  to-morrow — 

"  Tour  father  is  writing  to  you,  I  don't  quite  know  what  for^ 
except  that  I  am  sure  it  is  about  the  works ;  but  pray  do  not  come 
and  go  away  for  good  and  all  as  Alexander  did  in  the  spring.  I 
do  not  know  what  your  father  asked  Alexander  or  said  to  him^ 
but  I  am  sure  he  is  never  coming  again.  If  he  says  anything  to 
you,  please  do  try  to  do  it. 

"  Tour  loving  Mother^ 

"  SUSAN  GRIMSTONE. 

"  P.S. — Tourfathery  who  as  you  know  has  been  /'//,  is  recovering 
now.  I  hope  you  are  quite  well" 

So  Peter  read,  and  stood  so  long  with  the  paper  in  his 
hand  that  Paddy  jumped  up  at  it  to  create  a  diversion. 
Peter  put  the  dog  aside  and  returned  to  the  letter.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  What  could  it  mean  ?  It  was  written 
apparently  without  his  father's  knowledge,  perhaps  even  in 
defiance  of  his  implied  will  ;  certainly  in  haste  and  perturba- 
tion of  mind,  the  style  and  writing  betrayed  that.  Peter 
could  not  understand  it.  He  had  heard,  of  course,  long  ago 
of  Alexander's  coming  and  going  away  again,  but  he  had 
heard  nothing  of  importance  in  connection  with  it — Mrs. 
Grimstone  knew  little  and  could  explain  less.  What  had  it 
to  do  with  him  ?  And  why  was  his  father  writing  ?  What 
was  he  going  to  ask  ? 

A  shadow  had  begun  to  spread  over  Peter's  exultation.  He 
could  not  see  how  he  could  be  robbed  of  what  had  so  lately 
come  to  him  ;  yet  he  had  an  intuitive  perception  of  the 
possibility.  He  sat  down  and  went  over  the  letter  again, 

92 


DESIRE 

trying  to  read  the  worst  meaning  into  each  phrase  and  to 
answer  it  to  himself.  At  the  end  a  sudden  emotion,  half 
anger,  half  defiance,  shook  him.  He  was  a  fool,  and  this 
was  folly,  and  whatever  it  meant  or  threatened,  it  could  not 
and  should  not  hurt.  The  future  to-day  had  offered  him 
something,  the  future  should  fulfil  it !  He  put  the  letter  aside 
and  went  to  bed.  It  did  not  matter  what  the  writer  meant, 
or  what  the  other  writer  would  unfold  to-morrow — nothing 

mattered,  nothing  could  and  nothing  should.     And  yet 

The  exultation  was  gone,  the  sun  was  gone  again,  and  all  within 
was  grey  and  rugged  as  the  hill  landscape  of  his  childhood. 

Paddy  liked  staying  the  night  with  Peter  ;  apart  from  his 
inordinate  affection  for  his  adopted  master,  which  would 
have  reconciled  him  to  any  discomfort,  there  was  no 
discomfort  to  be  endured.  He  spent  the  night  on  the  foot 
of  Peter's  bed,  and  he  always  had  twice  as  much  breakfast  as 
he  did  at  home.  On  this,  which  also  proved  to  be  almost 
the  last  of  his  unauthorized  visits,  something  went  wrong. 
He  spent  a  peaceful  night,  and  there  was  a  plenteous 
breakfast,  but  he  did  not  enjoy  it.  Peter  did  not  give  it  to 
him  at  first,  he  had  a  letter,  newly  come,  which  absorbed 
his  attention,  and  when  at  last,  reminded  by  the  dog,  he 
remembered  to  put  the  food  down,  there  was  that  in  his  face 
which  spoiled  Paddy's  appetite.  The  dog  put  his  nose  in 
the  bowl,  then  he  looked  up  doubtfully.  Peter  was  sitting 
down  to  the  table,  but  he  was  not  eating,  he  was  looking  at 
a  pencil  letter,  which  was  short  enough  for  him  to  have 
already  read  it  once  or  twice.  The  dog  looked  at  him 
curiously,  wistfully,  face  and  attitude  told  something  to  the 
half-developed  mind,  something  which  vaguely  roused  fear 
and  sympathy.  He  left  the  bowl  and  moved  uneasily,  finally 
he  came  close,  nuzzling  against  the  man.  And  the  man 
replied  by  an  automatic  touch  of  the  hand,  the  touch  of  one 

93 


DESIRE 

who  by  instinct  will  not  hurt  a  creature's  feelings,  but  who 
has  just  now  no  thought  or  attention  to  spare. 

Paddy  lay  down  at  his  feet,  nose  on  paws,  mute  anguish 
of  dumb  and  patient  sympathy  in  eyes.  The  morning  sun 
streamed  in  on  them  and  on  the  neglected  bowl  of  food, 
a  fly  buzzed  on  it,  but  the  dog  gave  no  heed.  And  the  man 
gave  no  heed  to  the  sunlight.  The  sun  had  gone  down  on  his 
world,  the  sun  that  had  only  risen  clear  of  the  mists  yesterday. 
It  was  the  old  grey  prospect  again,  the  steep  rough  climb,  the 
mountainous  way  which  wound  always  up  and  up,  and  never 
reached  the  open  spaces  where  there  were  pauses  of  rest  and 
margins  of  pleasure  and  the  far-off  view  of  golden  promise. 

Why? 

He  threw  up  his  head  with  an  unconscious  movement. 
Why  should  he  accept  it  ?  Why  throw  away  what  he  had 
and  what  he  might  have  for  this — this  less  than  nothing^ 
this  which  must  end  in  failure,  this  cramping  of  mind  and 
life,  and  doing  ill  what  if  done  well  was  almost  nothing  at 
all  ?  The  grey  way,  the  hopeless,  ineffectual  way  was  before 
him  ;  but  the  other  was  too.  He  was  not  compelled  to 
either,  the  choice  was  his  own  to  make. 

There  was  a  step  on  the  stairs  ;  Peter  heard  it,  and,  with  an 
animal's  instinct  to  hide  suffering,  turned  so  that  his  back 
was  towards  the  light. 

Austin  burst  cheerfully  into  the  room.  u  Congratulations, 
old  chap  !  "  was  his  greeting.  "  Congratulations,  and  a 
bespeak  of  the  first  good  thing  you  have  to  give  away  !  Of 
all  the  lucky  devils  in  the  world  you  are  the  luckiest !  Not 
content  with  casting  spells  over  great  ladies  for  you,  fortune 
must  needs  cast  'em  over  great  editors  too  !" 

Peter  looked  up,  his  face,  even  if  it  could  have  been  seen, 
betraying  him  very  little.  "  Congratulations  ?  "  he  said. 
"  Oh,  you  have  heard  of  last  night  r  " 

94 


DESIRE 

"  Yes,  I  heard.  Mason  was  there,  you  know.  He  didn't 
exactly  hear  what  was  said,  but  he  pretty  well  guessed,  and  he 
came  along  and  told  us." 

"  More  than  there  was  to  tell,  I  think,"  Peter  said,  and 
rising,  went  to  the  window  and  threw  it  wider.  "It  was 
only  an  offer,"  he  said,  his  back  that  way,  "  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  shall  accept  it." 

"  What  !  "  Austin  sat  down  in  astonishment.  "  Have 
you  come  into  a  fortune,  or  achieved  fame  in  a  musical 
comedy,  and  modestly  withheld  your  name  ?  " 

"  No,"  Peter  answered,  still  looking  out  of  the  window  ; 
"  but  I'm  not  sure  I  shan't  throw  the  whole  thing  up  and  go 
back  to  my  people." 

Austin  stared  at  his  back.  "  Well,  I'll  be  damned  !  "  he 
said.  Next  moment  he  added  inquisitively,  "  When  did  she 
refuse  you  ? " 

"  She  ?— who  ?  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  genuineness  of  Peter's  tone. 
He  had  for  the  minute  completely  forgotten  the  existence  of 
Desire.  Austin  saw  that,  though  he  answered,  "  Queen  of 
hearts,  Miss  Quebell — though  I  suppose  you  will  say  she 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Well,  well,  well,  all  I  can  say  is 
your  people  must  be  an  extremely  fascinating  lot — wish  mine 
were." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke,  and  turned  Paddy  over  with  his  foot. 
"  Ugh  !  Brute  !  "  he  said  to  the  depressed  dog;  "  is  this  the 
way  you  greet  your  master  ?  " 

The  dog  took  no  notice  of  him,  only  moved  nearer  to 
Peter. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  the  beast  ?  He  looks  as  if  he 
had  had  the  thrashing  he  deserves  for  desertion." 

"  I  think  he  wants  to  stay  with  me,"  Peter  said.  "  You 
might  leave  him  for  the  present." 

95 


DESIRE 

Austin  left  him,  it  suited  his  arrangements.  "  Bye-bye," 
he  said,  "  and  don't  forget  I've  bespoke  the  first  good  thing, 
Mr.  Editor." 

From  which  it  is  clear  he  did  not  now  believe  in  Peter's 
doubt  about  taking  the  offer ;  in  his  opinion  it  was  bluff, 
show-off,  youth's  vanity  pretending  to  hesitate  about  accept- 
ing what  it  was  in  reality  ready  to  jump  at.  He  was  very 
far  from  realizing  that  the  words  held  less  than  the  truth, 
rather  than  more,  and  that  the  battle  was  more  than  half 
over.  Peter  hardly  knew  it  himself  when  he  spoke  ;  after- 
wards he  did.  Afterwards  he  felt  as  if  he  had  subconsciously 
known  all  along  that  this  would  be  the  end,  no  matter  how 
he  struggled.  Whatever  the  reasons  for  his  not  going,  in 
the  end  he  would  go.  Why  ?  It  was  useless  to  ask  why, 
the  thing  would  not  defend  itself,  did  not  defend  itself,  but 
like  most  of  the  motives  that  really  matter,  it  was  as  impera- 
tive as  it  was  unanswering.  A  man  may  struggle  with  it 
even  though  he  foresees  the  end,  but  the  end  is  the  same. 
Peter  struggled  all  day  ;  not  giving  way  from  a  sense  of 
duty,  from  any  motive  high  or  low  that  he  knew  of,  but  all 
along  knowing  quite  well  that  he  would  give  way,  and  yet 
struggling  in  spite  of  the  knowledge.  Throughout  his  work 
the  thing  haunted  him,  filling  in  pauses,  making  itself  an 
accompaniment,  everything  going  to  the  tune  of  struggle, 
the  struggle  incessant,  the  end  inevitable. 

At  the  end  of  the  day  he  went  to  see  Desire.  He  had 
no  appointment  with  her,  but  in  his  assumed  role  he  often 
went  when  he  could  spare  time  without  that.  He  would 
probably  have  gone  anyhow  that  day  to  tell  her  of  last 
night's  interview  and  offer  ;  it  was  necessary  he  should  go 
now  to  hear  when  he  could  get  his  discharge. 

But  when  he  was  shown  into  Desire's  boudoir,  where  she 
sat  alone,  he  quickly  became  aware  that  she  had  affairs  of 

96 


DESIRE 

her  own  on  her  mind.  Instinctively  his  affairs  shrank  away 
before  them  ;  they  could  wait,  they  mattered  nothing  to  her, 
to  any  one  but  himself.  He  had  lived  so  solitary  and  starved 
a  life  that  he  never  dreamed  of  demanding  a  hearing,  let 
alone  sympathy. 

"  Are  you  busy  ?  "  he  said.     "  Shall  I  go  ? " 

She  turned  a  curiously  hard  face,  with  eyes  glitteringly 
bright.  "  No,"  she  said,  "  better  stay.  Have  you  come  to 
talk  of  wages  r  " 

"  Wages  ?     What  for  ?  " 

"  For  playing  the  part  of  Romeo,  a  distasteful  part  well 
played,  to  the  much  wasting  of  your  time." 

"That  was  paid  for  beforehand.  You  have  done  more 
for  me  and  my  book  than  can  ever  be  wiped  off  that  way." 

Some  of  the  hard  lines  on  Desire's  face  smoothed  a  little, 
perhaps  because  she  was  glad  that  he  had  not  learnt  any  of 
the  language  of  compliment. 

"  That's  nothing,  and  cost  me  nothing,"  she  said,  then 
announced  abruptly,  "  My  engagement's  broken  off ;  have 
you  heard  ?  " 

He  had  not,  and  he  knew  it  must  be  a  very  recent  doing 
for  him  not  to  have  done  so,  seeing  that  he  had  seen  her  or 
Gore  or  both  almost  every  day  since  the  latter's  return. 

"  You've  not  heard  ?  Well,  I  tell  you  now,  it's  a  fact 
accomplished." 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  said. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  It  is  what  you  wanted,  I  imagine." 

She  laughed,  rather  a  mirthless  laugh.  "I  told  you  I 
always  got  what  I  wanted,  didn't  I  r  "  she  said.  "  So  I  do. 
Of  course  the  breaking  of  the  engagement  was  what  I 
wanted,  I  contracted  with  you  to  play  Romeo  for  that 
purpose." 

7  97 


DESIRE 

He  nodded.     "I  see,"  he  said,  avoiding  her  eyes. 

Desire  moved  uneasily.  "  What  do  you  see  ?  "  she  asked. 
She  would  have  no  avoidance. 

He  hesitated,  then  answered  truthfully,  "That  you  thought 
for  some  reason  your  engagement  ought  to  be  broken,  though 
it," — he  paused  for  a  word,  then  concluded — "  though  it  hurt 
to  do  it." 

Desire  flushed.  Even  to  herself  she  had  not  admitted  so 
much.  "  What  a  complicated  person  you  make  me  !  "  she 
commented  lightly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said.     "  I  ought  not  to  have  said  that." 

She  turned  round  on  him  with  one  of  her  sudden  trans- 
formations. "  Why  not  ?  "  she  demanded  almost  fiercely. 
"  Why  should  you  not  say  what  you  think  true  ?  You  at 
least  can  deal  in  what  you  take  to  be  truth,  even  though  it 
is  miles  away  from  other  people's  idea  of  it.  You  are  one 
of  the  few,  too,  to  whom  one  can  tell  the  truth — I  will  tell 
you  the  truth  of  this  matter." 

"  Don't,"  he  said.  "  I  mean,  don't  if  you  don't  want  to. 
There  isn't  a  bit  of  need  to  explain  anything  to  me.  I 
knew  all  along  that  you  had  some  sufficient  reason  which 
was  no  concern  of  mine ;  it  does  not  matter  to  me,  it 
never  did." 

Desire's  curious  red-brown  eyes  softened  for  a  moment. 
"  What  a  strange  creature  you  are,"  she  said.  "  All  the 
same,  I  think  I'll  tell  you." 

And  straightway  she  told  him  the  whole  thing,  from  the 
first  coming  of  the  other  woman  to  her.  She  told  it,  of 
course,  with  lightness  and  almost  flippancy,  anything  else 
would  have  been  impossible  in  her  state  of  mind. 

"There,  my  friend,"  she  concluded,  "you  have  the 
episode  ;  and  the  moral  is — vanity.  '  Vanity  of  vanities,  all 
is  vanity.'  I  was  so  vain  a  fool  that  I  thought,  having  pleased 

98 


DESIRE 

a  man's  eye — that,  I  am  told,  is  what  I  did — I  had  the  whole 
of  him.  She  was  so  vain  a  fool  that  she  thought,  having 
pleased  a  man's  brain  and  helped  him  in  need,  she  was  enough 
for  the  whole  of  him.  And  he  was  such  a  vain  fool  that  he 
thought  half  of  him  was  enough  for  any  woman.  But  my 
vanity  was  the  biggest  and  the  one  which  came  out  top,  for 
I  declined  to  understudy  any  woman  or  be  understudied  by 
her — and,  thanks  to  you,  I  have  won." 

Peter  looked  up,  but  before  he  could  speak  she  said  quickly, 
"  How  does  the  incident  strike  your  literary  soul  ?  Your 
literary  soul,  mind  j  don't  tell  me  about  anything  else." 

He  answered  her  obediently,  and  she  was  grateful  to  him. 

"  To  my  literary  soul  the  end  is  wrong  :  the  one  who  did 
the  wrong  is  the  only  one  who  has  got  off  free." 

"  And  who  is  that  ? " 

«  Gore." 

She  laughed,  but  with  a  little  shiver.  "  How  rude  of 
you  !  "  she  said.  "  He  has  been  jilted  by  me,  isn't  that 
misfortune  ?  Besides,  how  can  you  know  what  retribution 
will  be  eventually  appointed  to  him  ?  If  he  marries  Edith 
he  may  be  fool  enough  to  regret  it  as  a  mesalliance.  If  he 
does  not  he  will  certainly  regret  it  sooner  or  later  as  an 
actual  loss.  A  thousand  things  may  happen — undoubtedly 
will  happen.  In  this  kind  of  farce  we  don't  leave  off  at  the 
denouement,  we  get  up  next  morning." 

Peter  accepted  the  correction. 

"  But  so  far  as  you  and  I  are  concerned,"  she  went  on, 
"  the  thing's  concluded  ;  there's  no  more  to  be  said." 

"  You  don't  want  me  any  more  ?  "  Peter  said.  "  The 
play  is  done  ? " 

She  nodded.  "  The  curtain's  down  on  the  act,"  she  said, 
"and  I  leave  town  almost  immediately.  But  as  for  wanting 
you," — she  spoke  almost  wistfully — "  I  should  like  you  to  be 

99 


DESIRE 

my  friend,  if  you  can,  in  spite  of  this.     Perhaps  that's  too 
much  to  ask  ? " 

It  was  not,  Peter  said  so  simply  and  meant  it  more  literally 
than  she  knew  ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  saw  little  likelihood 
of  ever  seeing  much  of  her  again,  as  he  himself  would  have 
left  London  before  she  returned  for  the  winter.  He  told  her 
so,  and  of  his  going  away. 

"  Going  ? "  she  said  in  astonishment,  "  for  good  and  all  ? — 
why  ?  Do  you  mean  to  throw  up  your  work  here  just  as 
you  are  beginning  to  succeed  and  be  recognized  ?  You  are 
beginning  to  be  recognized,  too  ;  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  I  know,"  he  said  ;  "  it  is  largely  thanks  to  you.  I  had  an 
offer  last  night  which  was  really  through  you.  I  am  very 
grateful,  but  I  am  afraid  I  have  got  to  go — my  father  wants 
me." 

Desire  for  the  first  time  began  to  be  aware  that  he,  too, 
had  come  to  some  sort  of  crisis  in  his  affairs.  No  idea  of  it 
had  crossed  her  mind  until  her  own  concerns  were  talked 
out,  and  even  now  his  manner  deceived  her  into  thinking 
that  he  himself  did  not  realize  the  importance  and  full  mean- 
ing of  what  he  said,  or  at  least  that  he  did  not  care  much 
one  way  or  the  other  for  it. 

"  Explain,"  she  said  ;  "  tell  me  what  you  mean,  what  are 
you  going  to  do,  and  why  ?  " 

He  obeyed  her  briefly  j  he  even  showed  her  the  two  letters, 
but  without  succeeding  in  making  his  decision  plain  and 
reasonable  to  her — which  was  not  entirely  surprising,  seeing 
that  he  did  not  know  why  he  had  decided  himself. 

"  It  is  sheer  folly  !  "  she  exclaimed  at  last.  "  Sheer,  utter 
imbecility  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  he  said.  "  I'm  sorry  ;  I'm  afraid  you 
must  think  me  ungrateful  too." 

"  Oh,    gratitude's   nothing,"    she   returned    impatiently ; 

IOO 


DESIRE 

<c  there's  nothing  to  be  grateful  for.  What  I  do  think  is 
that  it  is  folly.  I  have  no  patience  with  your  ridiculous  duty 
worshipping  people  who  devote  all  your  time  to  doing — and 
making  others  do  if  you  can — all  the  hard  and  unpleasant 
things  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  Oh  yes,  it  is 
extremely  bad  to  be  like  me,  no  doubt,  and  have  no  sense  of 
duty  at  all,  but  it  is  no  better  to  be  like  you  and  have  such 
a  sense  of  it  as  to  refuse,  on  principle,  to  do  everything 
agreeable  and  pleasant.  A  lot  too  much  has  been  made  of 
sacrifice,  I  consider.  I  haven't  such  an  opinion  of  the  self- 
sacrificing  saints ;  I  prefer  a  cheerfully  selfish  sinner.  I 
thought,  too,  there  was  something  in  the  Bible — on  which, 
no  doubt,  you  were  brought  up — about  people  who  hid  their 
talents  and  wasted  them.  What  do  you  think  you  will  be 
doing  with  yours  ?  " 

"  My  talent  isn't  worth  much  to  anybody,"  Peter  said. 
"  I  don't  think  any  one  would  be  the  better  or  worse  if  I 
wrote  or  did  not  write  a  book  or  two." 

"  There  you  are  wrong,  there  is  one  person  at  least  who 
is  the  better  for  you  having  written  a  book — that  is  myself  j 
I  don't  mean  to  suggest  that  matters — it  doesn't ;  only  if 
The  Dreamer  has  affected  me  you  may  be  sure  it  has  affected 
other  people  better  worth  affecting.  To  me  it  is  a  book 
apart,  a  sort  of  human  thing  impossible  of  course,  but  good 
to  have  known.  Do  you  think  it  is  no  loss  if  there  are  no 
more  such  human  things  ?  " 

"Was  it  that  to  you  ?  "  he  asked.  "Did  it  really  seem 
that  ?  " 

He  was  glad,  though  it  made  his  sense  of  what  he  was 
losing  greater  ;  yet  it  did  not  shake  his  determination.  Far 
down  in  his  mind  even  there  was  a  vague,  almost  superstitious 
feeling  that,  did  he  stay  in  the  present  circumstances  some 
illusive  thing  which  belonged  to  his  craft  would  leave  him. 

101 


DESIRE 

"  Very  likely  I  could  not  write  another  such  book,"  he 
told  Desire.  "  That  book  grew  after  a  fashion  ;  I  am  not  sure 
I  should  keep  on  growing  them,  the  present  one  isn't  growing, 
it's  being  made,  it  isn't  really  so  good — besides," — he  saw 
from  her  look  that  she  either  could  not  or  would  not  under- 
stand— "  I  expect  I  shall  have  some  little  time  to  write  at 
home,  not  a  great  deal,  but  I  probably  should  do  it  better  for 
having  to  do  it  slowly.  And  anyhow,  it  doesn't  really 
matter,  there  are  plenty  of  people  to  write  books  but  no  one 
to  go  home  in  my  place." 

She  was  entirely  unconvinced.  "  That  is  absurd,"  she 
said  ;  "  another  man  can  no  more  write  your  books  than  he 
can  go  home  in  your  place  j  your  books  are  you,  and  if  you 
don't  write  them,  or  if  you  take  fifteen  years  writing  one 
when  you  might  take  one  we  are  that  much  poorer.  You 
have  no  business  to  make  the  sacrifice  and  your  parents  have 
no  business  to  ask  it  of  you." 

"They  are  not  asking  a  sacrifice,"  Peter  said,  "at  least 
they  don't  think  so." 

"  That  adds  to  the  preposterousness  of  it,"  Desire  returned, 
taking  up  Ezra  Grimstone's  letter  which  clearly  demonstrated 
the  fact.  "  Your  father,"  she  said,  "  evidently  thinks  he  is 
giving  you  a  great  chance,  at  which  you  will  jump  even 
while  you  feel  yourself  as  unworthy  as  he  thinks  you.  It's 
absurd,  of  course,  but  it  makes  it  easier  for  you  ;  you  can 
refuse  without  hurting  him  j  you  can  say  you  appreciate  his 
kindness  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  but  know  you  can't  deserve  it 
or  do  justice  to  the  opportunity,  so  will  just  stay  where  you 
are.  You  need  not  mention  that  you  are  earning  more  and 
doing  better,  that  his  offer  is  penal  servitude,  and  accepting 
it  would  be  an  egregious  waste  of  time,  talents  and 
opportunities.  You  would  not  have  to  hurt  his  feelings  at 
all." 

102 


DESIRE 

Peter  knew  the  Grimstone  feelings,  wherein  they  lay  and 
what  affected  them.  "It  is  his  pottery  he  thinks  of,  not 
himself,"  he  said. 

"With  all  due  deference  to  you,"  Desire  retorted,  "I  should 
imagine  the  pottery  would  be  quite  as  well  without  you." 

"  It  would  be  all  right  while  he  lives,"  Peter  told  her, 
"  afterwards " 

"It  and  you  would  be  a  failure." 

Peter  thought  it  more  than  probable,  but  it  did  not  alter 
his  decision.  Desire  perceived  this  and  perceived  for  the 
first  time  the  real  immovableness  of  the  man  she  had  here- 
tofore always  found  diffident  and  ready  to  follow  her 
suggestions.  This  time  it  dawned  on  her  that  her  words 
made  no  impression. 

"  It  amounts  to  this,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  your  mother 
wants  you  to  come  home  for  yourself  because  she  is  lonely 
and  '  Alexander ' — who  apparently  is  an  unpleasant  person — 
has  behaved  unpleasantly.  Your  father  wants  you  for  his 
business,  of  the  value  and  success  of  which  he  has  as  erroneous 
an  idea  as  a  country  squire,  with  three  hundred  years  of 
pedigree  and  three  hundred  pence  of  credit,  has  of  his  family. 
He  wants  a  '  Son  '  for  the  firm,  and  some  one  to  supplant  or 
circumvent  the  unpleasant  Alexander.  And  you  think  these 
reasons  are  good  enough  to  justify  you  in  giving  up  work, 
career,  friends  and  duty  to  yourself." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  think,"  Peter  said. 

"  But  you  know  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

He  smiled.     "I  think  I  do." 

"  Then  go  and  do  it,"  she  said  angrily  ;  "  there  is  no  good 
in  wasting  further  words." 

He  rose.  "  Good-bye,"  he  said,  "  and  thank  you  very 
much  for  all  you  have  done  for  me.  If  there  is  ever  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  will  you  let  me  know  ?  " 

103 


DESIRE 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  will  not.  Our  account  is 
balanced,  or  if  there  is  any  debt  at  all  it  is  on  my  side.  Good 
bye.  Sometimes  I  am  ready  to  hate  every  man  in  the 
world,  generally  for  their  want  of  virtue — sometimes  for  their 
possession  of  one  of  an  aggressive  and  uncomfortable  kind." 

So  Peter  was  dismissed,  and  so  it  would  seem  was  to  end 
cloudily  his  curious  intimacy  with  Desire.  But  two  days 
later,  on  the  day  she  left  town,  the  post  brought  him  a  letter 
from  her. 

"  Forgive  me"  it  began,  "for  being  a  beast  to  you  when  you 
came.  I  don't  think  I  was  quite  myself  that  afternoon,  and  I  do 
think  I  was  so  personally  disappointed  at  the  loss  both  of  the  future 
books  and  the  writer  of  them  that  I  did  not  judge  fairly  of 
anything  else. 

"  /  have  no  doubt  you  have  decided  wisely ;  I  should  hate  to 
have  you  degenerate  into  a  successful  author,  a  handy  corner  man 
at  a  dinner-table  and  all  the  rest.  In  going,  however,  quixotic 
as  you  are,  you  are  at  least  true  to  yourself  and  I  like  you  for  it. 
Also  I  am  not  going  to  believe  that  we  shall  be  eventual  losers,  I 
expect  there  will  in  time  be  a  successor  to  The  Dreamer,  another 
4  reaP  book  of  sorts.  Wlien  there  is  you  may  be  sure  its  warmest 
welcome  will  be  from 

"  Tour  friend, 

"DESIRE  QUEBELL." 

This  letter  was  one  of  the  two  good  things  Peter  took 
with  him  when  he  left  London.  The  other  was  Paddy. 
Austin  gave  him  the  dog,  partly  because  he  found  him  rather 
a  nuisance,  partly  because  he  showed  such  a  strong  objection 
to  being  parted  from  Peter. 


104 


CHAPTER   VII 

THE  little  old  town  of  Twycross  lay  rather  off  the  track. 
It  was  not  far  from  several  pottery  towns — noted  for  dirt  and 
bankruptcy,  not  very  far  from  some  much  larger  towns, 
noted  for  all  manner  of  things  of  commercial  interest,  but  it 
itself  had  no  claim  to  fame.  The  folk  who  lived  there  were 
mostly  either  retired,  and  they,  not  thinking  an  enormous 
fortune  necessary  to  happiness,  retired  while  they  were  still 
able  to  enjoy,  or  else  engaged  in  some  one  of  the  towns  to  be 
reached  (in  time)  by  an  inconsequent  railway.  Comfortable, 
substantial  folk  they  were  for  the  most  part,  a  little  like  their 
town  in  that  they  seemed  to  have  rather  dropped  behind  the 
times  and  to  have  small  wish  to  catch  up.  In  the  main  they 
were  dissenters  in  religion,  liberals  in  politics,  good  men  of 
business,  or  good  housekeeperly  women.  They  dined  early 
and  went  to  bed  early,  read  little  besides  the  daily  papers  on 
week-days  and  the  Sunday  papers  on  Sundays,  and  concerned 
themselves  not  much  with  things  beyond  a  twenty-mile 
radius. 

The  Grimstones  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  Twycross,  some 
way  from  the  town  and  close  to  where  the  canal  crossed  the 
valley  on  an  aqueduct.  Theirs  was  a  grey,  flat-faced  house, 
built  by  the  first  Ezra,  close  on  to  the  pottery.  The  require- 
ments both  of  the  work  and  the  family  were  greater  then 
than  at  the  present  time ;  there  were  rooms  in  the  house 
which  were  never  used  now  and  buildings  abutting  it  where 
empty  benches  and  idle  wheels  spoke  of  work  and  times  which 

105 


DESIRE 

were  gone.  Not  that  the  place  looked  decayed  or  falling  to 
ruin  ;  everything  was  in  very  fair  repair  but  very  quiet  and 
still. 

Beyond  the  house  the  hills  rose,  and  it  was  towards  the 
hills  not  towards  the  town  that  most  of  the  long,  many-paned 
windows  looked.  Sharp-edged  hills  they  were,  cutting 
clearly  against  the  sky  ;  boulder  strewn  and  bare  for  the  most 
part,  though  here  and  there  patched  now  with  the  brown  of 
dead  heather  and  bracken,  and,  more  rarely,  the  black  of 
wind-twisted  pines  in  winter  dress.  These  were  the  grey 
hills  of  Peter's  vision,  up  the  nearest  one  went  the  long,  steep 
road  of  which  he  had  thought. 

Up  that  road  he  went  on  a  November  Sunday  afternoon 
— as  he  had  often  gone  that  autumn  when  he  came  home- 
Paddy  went  with  him  ;  it  was  a  fascinating  country  to 
Paddy ;  it  abounded  with  wild,  no  man's  rabbits,  and 
mysterious  holes  and  little  gaps  between  great  stones  which 
led  no  one  knew  where.  The  only  thing  to  be  regretted 
was  that  when  he  and  his  master  went  this  wonderful  walk 
up  the  hills  he  could  not  wander  and  investigate  with  an 
easy  mind.  He  had  an  uneasy  feeling  that  he  must  keep 
coming  to  and  from  to  see  that  all  was  well  with  the  man, 
for  so  often  he  bore  with  him  on  these  walks — or  found  and 
took  up  on  the  way — that  evil  thing  which  had  first  come 
that  sunny  morning  in  town.  Paddy  did  not  know  what  it 
was,  something  that  gave  him  a  pain  and  made  even  rabbits 
to  be  disregarded,  and  kept  him  close  to  his  master's  side  as 
silently  they  went  up  the  lonely  path  together.  A  long  path 
it  was  j  at  first  widish  and  fairly  good  though  rising  fast, 
soon  narrower  and  rougher  with  bare  bones  of  rock  breaking 
through  the  surface,  then  rising  more  steeply,  winding 
sometimes,  sometimes  going  straight,  or  from  boulder  to 
boulder,  like  ill-made  stairs.  Then,  quite  suddenly,  when 

106 


DESIRE 

one  had  climbed  the  big  boulder  with  the  black  gap  beneath 
it,  the  track  dropped  again  and  ran  for  a  while  quiet  and 
secret,  in  a  curved  hollow  full  of  dark  pines.  The  ground 
was  loose  and  sandy,  no  sound  of  steps  was  here.  It  was  a 
good  dog's  paradise,  the  very  haunt  of  rabbits  where  the 
loose  soil  smelt  of  them,  a  mysterious  place  where  in  the 
dark  shadow  of  the  trees  one  fancied  cotton  tails  innumerable 
bobbing.  But  other  shadows  would  seem  to  dwell  here  too, 
at  all  events  the  man  did  not  linger,  he  walked  on  with  bent 
head  and  clouded  eyes  fixed  on  the  silent  sand  and  the  hand 
which  did  not  hold  his  stick  was  clenched  hard.  But  when 
the  hollow  was  passed  and  the  path  rose  again,  the  pines 
ceased  or  only  grew,  one  here  and  there,  a  gnarled  tree,  all 
aslant,  clinging  to  the  boulders  by  horny  roots  or  lying  over- 
thrown by  some  past  gale.  Even  these  had  ceased  before 
one  came  to  the  last  steep  piece,  over  the  grey  boulder  with 
the  hollowed  crown  where  the  rain  collected  in  wet  weather, 
and  so  to  the  top. 

This  way  did  Peter  and  Paddy  go  that  November  after- 
noon, not  pausing  until  they  reached  the  top.  At  the  top 
was  brown  heather  and  grey  sky  and  a  curlew  crying  as  it 
circled  and  wheeled,  and  beyond,  an  edge  like  the  edge  of 
the  world.  Peter  walked  to  the  edge  and  stood  where  the 
last  tuft  of  heather  overhung  the  brow,  like  matted  hair  on  a 
shelving  forehead,  and  looked  out  over  the  wide  land  spread 
below.  Fields  and  trees  and  streams,  isolated  villages  dotted 
in  the  distance,  and  in  the  greater  distance  towns  dim  seen 
in  their  cowls  of  smoke,  and  the  shining  line  of  the  canal 
threading  the  whole  as  it  pursued  its  course  through  high 
country  and  low.  A  great  wide  land,  somewhat  bare  in  this 
autumn-time,  grey  and  brown  rather  than  green,  except  once 
when  a  gleam  from  the  low  sun,  hidden  here,  struck  a  far-off 
spot  and  turned  it  to  silver. 

107 


DESIRE 

The  world  which  he  had  left,  that  it  represented  to  Peter 
. — and  for  a  while  he  stood  looking  out  over  it.  Left,  not 
lost — a  man  can  in  his  mind  carry  some  part  of  what  he  will, 
especially  a  man  who  writes.  Peter  still  wrote  ;  all  the 
autumn  he  had  been  doggedly  going  on  with  the  second 
novel  in  such  scraps  of  time  as  he  could  give.  But  it  did 
not  progress  as  he  wished,  it  in  no  way  satisfied  him,  and 
the  cloud  which  came  to  him  on  Sundays  often  owed  some 
part  of  its  origin  to  the  book  and  to  his  consciousness  that  it 
was  falling  below  his  own  standard.  The  long  hours  spent 
at  the  mechanical  and  technical  toil  of  the  pottery,  and  the 
effort  given  to  grasping  the  business  details,  seemed  to  take 
all  there  was  of  his  brain,  and  though  it  made  no  demands 
on  the  best  of  him  still  it  left  no  margin.  He  was,  it 
appeared,  a  person  who  could  only  do  one  thing  at  a  time. 
Possibly  he  was  aware  of  this  characteristic  but  he  fought 
with  it  all  the  same.  He  fought  this  November  Sunday, 
reviewing  the  book's  difficulties  on  the  silent  hillside,  making 
them  declare  themselves,  going  over  in  his  head  the  points 
that  did  not  satisfy  him  till  he  thought  he  saw  some  light  or 
at  least  some  hope.  At  that  time  it  was  usually  hope  he 
brought  back  with  him  from  the  hills,  literary  hope  ;  later, 
he  was  content  with  resignation  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  literature. 

But  whatever  it  was  he  brought  back  Paddy  was  always 
aware  that  the  homeward  walk  was  not  as  the  walk  out.  It 
was  one  glorious  hunt  for  him,  his  responsibilities  were  over, 
and,  in  joyous  abandonment,  he  chased  rabbits,  real  and 
imaginary,  and  those  ghost  beasts,  twilight  quarry, 
unrecognized  by  men.  Once  or  twice  he  came  back  to  see 
what  his  master  did,  but  though  he  did  not  hunt  and  proclaim 
joy  aloud  the  dog  felt  it  was  well  with  him.  He  came  from 
boulder  to  boulder,  from  soft  patch  to  hard,  from  the  dark 

108 


DESIRE 

group  of  pines  to  the  grey  where  the  stones  showed  pale  in 
the  fading  light — with  sure  step,  with  shoulders  square,  and 
raised  head  and  eyes  which  looked  fearlessly  before.  So  till 
the  end  of  the  path  was  reached  and  the  twilight  was  all 
fallen  and  the  hill  behind  reared  a  black  shoulder  against  the 
dark  sky.  Below  was  the  wide  white  road  and  across  it  the 
grey-faced  house  with  one  lighted  window  which  showed  a 
solitary  gleam  in  the  gloom. 

Sunday  evenings  Peter  usually  spent  in  the  kiln-house,  a 
place  dear  to  Paddy,  who  much  appreciated  the  warmth  and 
the  mysterious  dark  centres  of  heat  where  there  were  little 
doors  and  glowing  cracks  not  good  to  sniff  at.  Here,  after 
tea  on  Sundays,  Peter  came  with  a  lantern  and  the  manu- 
script. Here  he  thought  to  come  this  Sunday,  reinforced 
by  the  walk  on  the  hill  and  ready  to  go  once  again  to  the 
fashioning  and  refashioning  of  the  book ;  but  that  evening 
while  they  sat  at  tea  Mrs.  Grimstone  said  something  which 
intervened.  They  sat  soberly  in  the  dining-room  to  tea  as 
they  had  done  evening  after  evening  for  long.  Mrs.  Grim- 
stone,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  fitted  the  wool-work  kettle 
holder  to  the  handle  of  the  old-fashioned  tea-pot  and  poured 
out  tea  on  the  same  system  that  she  had  always  followed, 
and  her  mother  had  always  followed — so  much  water  to 
warm  the  cups,  so  much  milk  to  break  the  tea,  so  much  tea 
in  every  cup — water  the  pot,  tea  again,  then  cream.  A 
lengthy  business,  interrupted  to-night  by  dropping  the 
holder  as  she  transferred  it  from  the  handle  of  the  tea-pot 
to  that  of  the  kettle  ;  Peter,  watching  as  he  had  often 
watched  before,  picked  up  the  holder  and  gave  it  to 
her. 

Mrs.  Grimstone,  perhaps  emboldened  by  this  break  in  the 
usual  routine,  volunteered  a  remark. 

"  Our  old  minister  is  going  to  preach  to-night,"  she  said  ; 

109 


DESIRE 

"  it  was  not  given  out  this  morning,  but  Mrs.  Harvey  told 
me  after  chapel." 

"  Is  he  ? "  Peter  said,  he  had  no  idea  who  the  old  minister 
was. 

"  You  remember  him  ? "  his  mother  went  on — "  oh  no, 
of  course  you  don't  !  He  used  to  be  here  before  Mr. 
Williams,  long  ago,  when  I  was  first  married.  You 
remember  him,  Ezra  ? " 

Ezra  nodded  without  answering.  He  had  grown,  if 
possible,  more  taciturn  of  late,  Peter's  home-coming  had 
made  no  difference  to  that,  nor  to  the  frost  which  as  it 
were  locked  him  in  a  silence  like  to  the  silence  of  winter. 

But  Peter  in  his  intercourse  with  Desire  Quebell  had 
learnt  something  of  those  courtesies  which  had  been  left  out 
of  his  earlier  life.  It  hurt  something  in  him  to  hear  his 
mother's  conversation  ended  thus. 

"  Did  you  like  the  old  minister  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Very  much,"  she  answered  ;  "  he  was  such  a  nice  man 
and  a  good  preacher  too.  He  has  not  been  here  for  many 
years.  I  should  like  to  have  heard  him  to-night.  I  did  say 
something  to  Mary  about  coming  with  me." 

"  Will  she  go  ?  "  Peter  inquired. 

She  would  not ;  she  and  Robert  belonged  to  a  lonely  sect 
that  had  its  meeting-room  somewhere  among  the  hills ;  all 
other  sects  were  avoided  by  her  with  severity.  Mrs.  Grim- 
stone  knew  this  and  was  not  surprised  by  the  refusal,  only 
sorry.  "  For  I  should  have  liked  to  have  heard  him,"  she 
said.  "  Mrs.  Harvey  did  say,  why  not  go  and  sit  with  them  ? 
but  it's  a  long,  dark  walk  home  afterwards  all  alone." 

She  spoke  with  some  regret,  but  still  clearly  accepted  her 
disappointment  as  a  matter  of  course.  But  to  Peter  there 
seemed  for  the  first  time  something  pathetic  in  her  patience, 
and  her  cheerful  acquiescence  in  going  without  the  small 

no 


DESIRE 

things  she  wanted.  She  had  probably  not  wanted  any  but 
small  things  all  her  life,  her  taste  had  been  for  little  homely 
things,  always  simple,  often  perhaps  trivial,  and  she  had 
nearly  always  been  denied  them.  The  little  matters  for 
which  she  cared  had  always  been — almost  unconsciously 
— sacrificed  to  the  seemingly  greater  ones  of  other  people. 
He  himself  was  as  guilty  as  another — was  he  not  now 
unhesitatingly  prepared  to  sacrifice  her  pleasure  to  his  work  ? 

"  I  should  rather  like  to  hear  this  preacher,"  he  said  ;  "  I 
remember  you  used  to  speak  of  him.  Perhaps  you  and  I 
could  go — if  you  don't  think  the  walk  would  be  too  much 
for  you." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  smiled  with  pleasure.  "  Should  you  like 
to  hear  him  ? "  she  said.  She  never  doubted  him,  why 
should  she  ?  The  men  of  her  household  had  never  to 
her  knowledge  said  or  done  a  thing  purely  to  please  her. 
"  He  always  was  such  a  good  preacher,  I  am  sure  you 
would  like  him.  We'll  start  in  good  time ;  I  shan't  be 
tired." 

They  started  in  good  time.  Paddy  waited  in  vain  near 
the  kiln-house  door  that  night  and  the  manuscript  lay 
untouched  up-stairs. 

It  lay  untouched  most  of  the  week  that  followed,  they 
were  unusually  busy  just  then  at  Grimstone's.  They  worked 
long  hours  there — an  hour  before  breakfast  at  eight,  from 
directly  after  breakfast  till  the  midday  dinner  when,  reluct- 
antly on  the  part  of  Ezra,  a  halt  a  trifle  longer  than  was 
absolutely  necessary  for  the  silent  meal  was  made.  Then  on 
again  in  the  afternoon  till  tea,  and  often  on  again  till  supper  at 
nine.  There  was  little  waste  of  time  there,  no  hour  spent  in 
journeying,  few  minutes  used  in  going  to  and  fro.  The 
office  was  in  the  house  itself;  the  sheds  and  buildings, 
where  the  small  manufacture  was  carried  on,  practically 

in 


DESIRE 

adjoined  the  house  and  bordered  the  yard  which  lay  parallel 
with  the  garden.  Beyond  the  kiln  at  the  bottom  of  the  yard 
was  the  canal,  but  that  long  and  almost  deserted  highway 
was  not  more  a  point  of  contact  with  the  outside  world 
than  the  old,  wide  road  which  ran  by  the  house  front,  and 
where  often  an  hour  went  by  without  a  single  wayfarer, 
except  mornings  and  evenings,  when  men  from  some  quarry 
in  the  hills  passed  that  way. 

Of  workmen  on  the  little  pottery  there  were  practically 
none  but  Robert,  who  lived  in  the  house  as  his  master  did, 
and  had  worked  always  in  the  same  place  and  under  the 
same  conditions.  There  was  also  an  oafish  young  man, 
who  had  started  as  boy  and  still  continued  to  be  a  "  boy  " 
though  he  was  approaching  five-and-twenty.  At  one  time 
there  had  been  two  men  besides  Robert,  but  they  were  both 
dead  now.  Ezra  had  not  replaced  them,  it  was  not  easy  to 
find  workmen  up  to  his  exacting  standard,  especially  in  a 
district  from  whence  work  was  all  gone.  Also,  the  em- 
ployment he  had  to  give  was  lessening,  and  though  he 
would  not  allow  this  even  to  himself  he  did  allow  that 
the  profits  he  made  were  lessening  and  so  it  behoved  him  to 
save.  The  men  died  singly  and  as  each  went  his  work  was 
portioned  out,  Ezra  himself  taking  the  lion's  share.  He 
was  a  man  of  great  energy  and  extraordinary  physical 
strength,  and  the  work,  in  the  cause  of  his  heart,  had  not 
been  beyond  him.  When  Peter  came  home  there  was  not 
left  for  him  more  than  an  ordinary  man  could  do. 

Alexander,  in  the  spring,  had  believed  the  little  old  pottery 
was  holding  its  own  ;  he  knew  it  to  be  small  and  old- 
fashioned,  but  he  had  seen  that  its  position  was  secure.  Ezra 
himself  believed  the  same  against  all  odds,  but  with  Peter  it 
was  different ;  he  had  very  little  business  faculty,  but  a  keen 
intuitive  perception  for  the  atmosphere  of  things,  and  he  saw 

112 


DESIRE 

not  only  what  was,  but  also  what  was  likely  to  be.  To  him, 
the  end,  whatever  the  present  position,  was  plain  ;  not  very 
near  but  inevitable,  and  the  recognition  of  it  was  almost  a 
consolation  to  him  for  his  own  unavoidable  failure.  It 
mattered  less  that  he  eventually  failed  as  a  potter  since  the 
pottery  was  failing  too.  That  recognition,  however,  made 
no  difference  to  his  method  of  working  or  his  endeavour  to 
master  the  ways  of  the  failing  industry.  He  could  only  do 
things  one  way,  slowly  and  methodically  with  the  whole  of 
himself.  So  he  did  this,  applying  himself  somewhat  as  he 
did  to  the  fashioning  of  The  Dreamer,  laborious  and  quiet, 
finding  the  right  way  very  slowly,  often  going  the  wrong 
and  pursuing  it  a  long  time  before  he  found  it  out — quite 
unable  to  learn  by  precept  or  example,  compelled  to  make 
everything  his  own  by  rediscovery.  His  extreme  slowness 
and  ineptitude  did  not  surprise  Ezra  ;  sometimes,  though 
rarely,  it  goaded  him  to  angry  irritability,  more  often  he 
bore  it  with  the  stoical  silence  of  one  who  expects  no  better. 
Silence  was  the  keynote  of  the  house,  the  inmates  seldom 
talked  unnecessarily ;  Mrs.  Grimstone,  perhaps,  originally 
conversationally  inclined,  had  long  since  ceased  to  speak 
unless  she  had  some  necessary  fact  to  communicate  or  un- 
avoidable question  to  ask.  Strangers  and  visitors  hardly  ever 
came  there.  Ezra,  though  he  had  lived  all  his  life  in  the 
one  place,  had  made  no  friends,  he  had  nothing  in  common 
with  the  people  he  met,  so  from  choice  he  met  them  as  little 
as  possible.  Mrs.  Grimstone,  of  course,  was  more  genial  by 
nature,  or  she  had  been  once,  though  she  seldom  saw  her 
neighbours  now  except  in  chapel  on  Sunday,  or  when  she 
made  an  expedition  to  the  town  for  shopping.  If  Peter 
missed  the  intercourse  with  his  fellow-creatures  which  he  had 
had  during  the  time  he  was  in  Desire's  service,  he  did  not 
show  it.  Nor  did  he  show  that  he  missed  the,  to  him,  far 
8  113 


DESIRE 

more  valuable  intimacy  with  herself.  He  had  had  it,  that 
was  unexpected — he  had  lost  it  in  fact,  that  was  inevitable 
sooner  or  later — but  in  memory  and  imagination  he  still  had 
it,  and  he  always  would,  what  had  been  was  always  part  of 
himself.  He  accepted  the  return  to  the  solitude  of  his  youth 
philosophically,  and  certainly  made  no  attempts  to  supply 
what  he  had  lost  by  making  new  acquaintances  or  renewing 
old.  He  had  been  home  a  good  many  weeks  before  he  ex- 
changed a  couple  of  sentences,  except  on  business,  with  any 
but  his  own  people,  and  it  was  with  considerable  reluctance 
that  he  accepted  the  first  invitation  he  did. 

That  invitation  was  given  on  the  Sunday  evening  when 
he  accompanied  his  mother  to  chapel.  It  was  the  Harveys 
who  gave  it,  those  same  kind-hearted  people  who  had 
suggested  Mrs.  Grimstone  should  sit  with  them  if  she  came 
alone  to  evening  service.  Mr.  Harvey,  a  genial  old  man  who 
had  retired  on  a  small  sufficiency  while  he  was  still  vigorous, 
stopped  to  shake  hands  after  service  and  pressed  Peter  to  come 
and  see  them. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  down  to  us  sometimes  ? "  he  said. 
"  Why,  I  don't  believe  you've  so  much  as  spoken  to  the  boys 
all  this  while  you've  been  back  !  Young  reprobates,  they're 
always  off  after  something  on  a  Sunday  instead  of  coming  to 
chapel,  and  you  never  come  down  our  way  in  the  week. 
Why  don't  you  come  one  night  this  week  ?  Fix  a  night  and 
come  to  tea." 

A  refusal  was  on  Peter's  tongue  but  it  was  not  uttered. 
Mrs.  Harvey,  who  was  talking  to  Mrs.  Grimstone,  caught 
her  husband's  words  and  warmly  seconded  the  invitation. 

"  Yes,  do  come,"  she  said.  "  You  come,  too,"  she  added, 
turning  to  Mrs.  Grimstone.  "  Which  day  will  suit  you  ? 
Thursday  ? — Friday  ?  Let's  make  it  Friday.  I'm  sure  you 
can  come  ;  you  don't  often  go  out  of  an  evening." 

114 


DESIRE 

By  the  light  of  the  gas-lamp  above  the  chapel  door  Peter 
saw  his  mother's  face.  He  saw  her  momentary  pleasure  in 
the  invitation,  but  after  a  timid  glance  at  him  she  began  a 
refusal.  "  I'm  not  sure,  thank  you  ;  I'm  afraid " 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  manage  it  ? "  he  asked. 

Again  transparent  pleasure  lightened  her  face.  "  Oh  yes," 
she  said.  "  Of  course  I  can  come  ;  I  should  like  to  so  much, 
but  I  was  not  sure  if  you — about  you " 

And  again  Peter  came  to  the  rescue.  "  We  shall  be  busy 
all  the  week,"  he  said,  "  but  I  think  I  ought  to  be  able  to 
get  away  by  Friday  evening.  I  shall  be  very  pleased." 

So  the  Harveys'  invitation  was  accepted,  with  fluttered 
pleasure  on  Mrs.  Grimstone's  part,  and  an  unconsciously 
formal  politeness  on  Peter's,  which  amused  the  two  Miss 
Harveys  a  good  deal.  And  on  Friday  at  six,  the  first  time 
that  week  there  had  been  any  leisure,  Peter  accompanied 
Mrs.  Grimstone  to  the  Harveys'.  And  the  manuscript  still 
lay  untouched  up-stairs,  and  would  still  lie  to-morrow,  for  to- 
morrow was  no  half-holiday  at  Grimstone's,  there  was  still 
work  to  be  done. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  the  early  spring  one  of  the  things  Ezra  Grimstone  had 
foreseen  as  possible  happened.  He  was  not  prepared  for  it; 
though  he  had  foreseen  the  chance  of  it,  it  was  only  as  men 
foresee  the  inevitableness  of  death.  He  was  alone  when  the 
blow  fell,  and  alone  when  he  came  to  the  full  realization  of 
it.  How  long  there  was  between  the  two  he  did  not  know, 
but  there  was  an  appreciable  time  when,  in  spite  of  his  iron 
constitution  and  will,  he  did  not  clearly  know  what  had 
happened.  When  he  did  know  he  sat  quite  still  with  his 
one  living  hand  clenched  and  his  half-numb  jaw  set  grimly. 
There  was  no  one  to  give  him  the  counsel  of  Job's  wife — 
"  Curse  God,  and  die,"  nor  did  he  want  it,  there  is  an 
emotion  beyond  curses,  a  dumb  fury  of  the  impotent  who 
have  been  left  only  the  power  and  the  pride  not  to  cry 
out. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  was  waiting  for  supper.  She  wondered 
at  the  lateness  of  her  husband's  coming  ;  regularly  at  five 
minutes  to  nine  it  was  his  habit  to  come  in,  and  Robert, 
hearing  him,  then  went  to  tell  Peter,  who  was  usually  either 
finishing  some  work  or  writing  in  the  kiln-house.  To-night 
Ezra  was  late,  very  late  ;  such  a  thing  had  hardly  occurred 
before  within  her  memory.  It  was  nine  ;  it  was  ten 
minutes  past  ;  it  was  twenty  minutes  past.  He  must  be 
very  busy,  some  letters  had  come  by  the  evening's  post,  they 
must  be  keeping  him.  She  took  up  her  darning  again. 
Five  minutes,  ten  minutes  passed,  then  the  clock  struck  the 
half-hour.  In  the  silent  house  it  sounded  loud,  and  though 

116 


DESIRE 

she  was  used  to  silence  broken  only  by  the  clock  it  startled 
her  a  little.  She  rose,  perhaps  Ezra  had  gone  out  without 
her  knowing,  she  would  go  to  the  office  door  and  try  to  hear 
if  he  were  there.  She  went  down  the  hall  and  standing 
close  to  the  door,  listened.  Her  hearing  was  not  very  quick 
and  at  first  she  heard  nothing,  then  gradually  she  became 
aware  of  a  sound,  an  odd  sort  of  noisy  breathing — he  was 
there  and  he  must  have  fallen  asleep.  It  was  incredible  ;  she 
could  hardly  believe  it  ;  she  opened  the  door  quietly  and 
looked  in. 

Ezra  was  not  asleep.  He  was  sitting,  or  rather  lying 
propped,  as  if  he  had  risen  and  fallen  back,  in  a  chair.  With 
his  left  hand  he  gripped  the  edge  of  the  desk  before  him, 
while  his  right  hung  limply  beside  him  ;  his  mouth  was 
drawn  a  little  aslant,  but  his  eyes  were  open,  conscious,  very 
fierce,  and  if  anything  more  brilliant  than  usual. 

"  Ezra  !  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  began,  but  the  name  died  on 
her  lips,  frightened  by  the  strange  attitude  and  the  loud, 
difficult  breathing.  "  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  cried. 
«  What  is  it  ?  " 

He  raised  his  left  hand  imperiously,  he  would  have  no 
outcry  made  for  him  by  her  any  more  than  by  himself;  he 
tried  to  speak  but  the  words  trod  on  one  another,  they  were 
incomprehensible  to  her. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  cried.     «  Oh,  Mary  !     Peter  !  " 

She  would  have  given  way  to  her  fear  and  run  for  help, 
but  he  stopped  her  with  a  gesture.  He  made  a  second  and 
greater  effort  to  express  himself,  and  though  she  did  not  as 
yet  distinguish  the  words  this  time  she  understood  his 
meaning. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  said,  gathering  self-control ;  "  I  won't 
make  a  noise.  You  gave  me  such  a  turn,  dear.  I'll,  I'll  fetch 
Peter." 

117 


DESIRE 

She  backed  towards  the  door  as  she  spoke,  and  he  making 
no  sign  one  way  or  the  other,  she  hurried  away. 

Peter  was  in  the  kiln-house,  writing,  she  could  see  the 
glow  of  his  light  through  the  chink  of  the  door.  Quickly 
she  crossed  the  yard  and  burst  in  upon  him. 

"  Peter  !  "  she  cried,  the  momentary  restraint  she  had 
been  obliged  to  put  upon  herself  gone.  "  Oh,  Peter  !  Your 
father's  ill  !  He's  had  a  fit  or  something.  Come,  come  at 
once  !  " 

But  Ezra  Grimstone  had  not  had  a  fit,  it  was  a  stroke  of 
paralysis  that  had  fallen  upon  him,  the  doctor  who  attended 
him  last  summer  had  warned  him  that  such  a  thing  might 
befall  him  and  had  given  him  some  advice,  which  he  had  not 
followed.  The  same  doctor,  hastily  fetched,  attended  now 
and  did  not  ask  if  his  advice  had  been  followed,  it  was  point- 
less to  trouble  Mrs.  Grimstone  with  such  useless  questions. 
He  allayed  her  fears,  prescribed  the  usual  things  and  went 
away.  On  one  thing  only  did  he  insist  emphatically,  there 
must  be  perfect  quiet,  no  excitement,  no  movement,  nothing 
disturbing  even  to  the  mind  :  an  order  one  might  reasonably 
expect  to  be  carried  out  here.  The  doctor  was  satisfied  that 
it  would  be  when  he  left  his  patient ;  but  Peter  was  not  so 
sure,  he  was  not  deceived  by  the  outside  stoical  calm,  also  he 
was  partly  able  to  understand  his  father's  halting  speech. 

In  obedience  to  the  command  of  that  halting  tongue  he 
went  down  to  the  office  late  that  night  to  look  for  the 
letters  which  had  come  by  the  evening  post.  There  were 
only  two  ;  both  lay  open  on  the  desk  ;  the  top  one,  judging 
by  its  date,  had  been  delayed  in  transit  and  should  have 
arrived  in  the  morning.  It  was  an  order  of  unusual  magni- 
tude, one  which  required  immediate  execution  and  which, 
even  under  the  best  circumstances,  would  have  taxed  the 
resources  of  the  little  pottery  to  the  uttermost  and  scarcely 

118 


DESIRE 

then  be  done  within  the  stipulated  time.  The  thought  of  it 
would  not  materially  add  to  the  peace  of  mind  of  the  man 
who  lay  helpless  up-stairs.  The  other  was  a  letter,  type- 
written, expressed  in  business  terms  on  business  paper  headed 
with  telephone  number  and  telegraphic  address  and  similar 
modern  things  with  which  Grimstone's  had  nothing  to  do. 
Peter  read  it  to  the  signature  at  the  end — Alexander's 
signature.  It  would  seem  that  Alexander  had  got  to  know 
of  the  order  contained  in  the  other  letter.  He  also  knew 
the  difficulty,  or  perhaps  the  impossibility,  of  the  little 
pottery  executing  it  in  time.  He  wrote  to  offer  help.  He 
said  he  could  let  the  parent  firm  have  a  certain  amount  of 
stuff — on  moderate  terms — to  supplement  their  own  and  so 
enable  them  to  execute  this  order. 

Alexander  was  not  a  potter,  he  did  not  manufacture,  he 
bought  "  seconds,"  slightly  faulty  products  of  other  manu- 
facturers, and  sold  them  again.  It  would  be  possible  for 
him,  no  doubt,  to  find  among  his  purchases  plenty  good 
enough  to  pass  muster  with  the  cheapest  of  Grimstone's 
making — the  order  was  but  for  the  cheapest — this  was 
what  his  offer  meant.  And  Peter,  reading  it,  perceived 
what  the  glitter  in  his  father's  eyes  meant — it  was  an  anger 
very  near  to  hate.  Peter  did  not  know  whether  the  anger 
was  for  the  standard  of  ethics  of  the  writer  or  for  the  insidi- 
ous effort  to  couple  himself  with  the  parent  firm,  or  for  the 
covert  insult  carefully  conveyed  in  the  offer  of  help,  and  he 
did  not  stop  to  think.  Though  as  a  novelist  the  motives  of 
men  and  the  mainspring  of  their  actions  should  have 
interested  him.  But  he  was  no  novelist  now,  he  was  for  the 
first  time  really  identified  with  the  poor  little  dwindling  firm 
and  with  the  stricken  man  up-stairs.  He  folded  the  letters 
and  put  them  in  his  pocket,  and  according  to  his  orderly 
nature  set  in  its  place  the  chair  which  had  been  overturned 

119 


DESIRE 

when  they  carried  Ezra  Grimstone  away.  Then  he  went 
out  to  the  kiln-house.  Paddy,  who  was  not  supposed  to 
come  indoors,  had  been  once  to  investigate  matters,  and 
gone  back  again  to  lie  on  the  manuscript  as  he  used  to  like 
to  in  the  old  days  in  town.  Peter  found  him  there  and 
turned  him  off,  then  gathered  the  loose  sheets  and  carried 
them  into  the  house.  He  might  have  put  them  into  the 
furnace  for  all  the  good  they  seemed  likely  ever  to  be. 

Two  things  Peter  had  inherited  from  his  father,  a 
magnificent  physique,  and  a  capacity  for  work,  which  Austin 
and  Farmer  and  various  of  his  London  acquaintance  had 
regarded  with  a  mixture  of  surprise  and  amusement.  Both 
these  qualities  were  called  into  play  in  the  days  which 
followed  Ezra's  seizure.  They  worked  double  time  at  Grim- 
stone's  then  ;  possibly,  if  it  was  a  factory  within  the  meaning 
of  the  Act,  they  laid  themselves  open  to  several  penalties. 
But  it  concerned  no  one  what  they  did.  Robert  worked  for 
the  old  master's  sake,  and  willingly  would  have  worked  ten 
times  harder  if  he  could  when  he  knew  the  reason  j  he  was 
a  tough  man,  taciturn  as  his  master,  cross  grained  but  flaw- 
lessly loyal,  of  few  sympathies  and  no  interests  outside  the 
pottery  which  was  his  world,  as  it  was  Ezra's.  Bolt,  to 
Peter's  surprise,  proved  of  value  at  this  pinch.  He  had  not 
counted  on  his  doing  more  than  his  usual  allotted  task, 
throwing  down  his  tools  and  slouching  away  when  six 
struck  ;  but  as  it  happened  he  did  much  more  ;  he  worked 
longer  hours  than  Robert  could,  he  came  a  good  second  to 
Peter.  He  developed  capabilities  before  unsuspected  ;  it 
seemed  when  he  chose  he  could  do  other  and  better  work 
than  that  which  was  usually  his.  It  was  he  who  mended 
the  brickwork  of  the  long-disused  second  oven  when  the  only 
bricklayer  in  Twycross  declared  himself  unable  to  attend  to 
it  for  a  week.  It  was  he,  too,  who  could  do  without  sleep 

1 20 


DESIRE 

for  long  stretches  of  time,  and  who  did  do  it.  But  it  was 
not  for  the  sake  of  the  old  master,  or  the  firm,  nor  yet  liking 
for  Peter,  or  pride,  or  a  sense  of  duty,  or  emulation,  or  any  of 
the  younger  qualities  of  the  soul.  By  accident  he  overheard 
some  words  which  passed  between  Robert  and  Peter  relative 
to  Alexander  ;  not  many,  Peter  was  not  communicative,  and 
had  not  the  listening  Bolt  had  his  wits  sharpened  by  the 
single  emotion  he  could  strongly  feel  he  would  hardly  have 
understood. 

"  Is  'e  trying  to  cut  us  out  ?  "  he  asked.     He  spoke  the 
dialect  of  the  hills  which  few  born  far  from  their  shadow  can 
easily  understand  and  which  Peter  had  had  to  relearn. 
"  Who  do  you  mean  ? "  Peter  inquired. 
"  Alexander,"  Bolt  answered,  he  had  no  use  for  titles  of 
respect,  few  of  his  people  had. 

"  No,"  Peter  said  ;  then,  his  instinctive  love  of  exactitude 
getting  the  better  of  his  reserve,  he  added,  "  not  exactly,  he 
would  be  glad  for  us  not  to  be  able  to  take  this  order." 

"  Ho,  would  'e  !  "  Bolt  said.     "  It'd  be  a  good  turn  for'm 
if  we  didn't  ? " 
"He  thinks  so." 

Bolt  nodded.  "  All  right,  maister,"  he  said,  with  a 
momentary  gleam  in  his  dull  eyes,  "  you  can  count 
on  me." 

Peter  believed  him,  and  found  the  belief  justified  in  the 
days  of  breathless  work  which  followed. 

And  Ezra  lay  helpless  up-stairs  ;  nursed  and  waited  upon 
by  Mrs.  Grimstone,  and  to  a  certain  extent  following  out 
the  doctor's  orders  with  regard  to  keeping  quiet.  He  was 
quiet,  very  quiet  in  the  main,  certainly  he  seemed  to  have 
little  wish  to  use  his  injured  powers  of  speech.  In  a  little 
he  began  to  improve  j  he  was  a  man  of  fine  constitution  and 
temperate  life  ;  he  showed  signs  of  a  partial  and  comparatively 

121 


DESIRE 

rapid  recovery  sooner  than  the  doctor  anticipated.  There 
was  every  hope,  he  said,  that  eventually  the  patient  would 
be  able  to  speak  almost  plainly  again,  also  a  likelihood  that 
he  would  partially  regain  the  use  of  his  limbs,  even  be  able 
to  walk  again  in  time,  though  probably  never  have  much 
power  in  his  right  hand  and  arm.  Mrs.  Grimstone  was 
much  cheered  when  she  heard  this.  She  had  herself  already 
noticed  an  improvement  in  her  husband's  speech  which  made 
it  easier  to  understand  and  wait  on  him — though  to  her  it 
would  never  have  been  hard  to  wait,  for  she  loved  to  give 
the  small  personal  services  for  which  there  had  been  little 
demand  or  room  in  her  life  before. 

As  for  Ezra,  he  received  the  hopeful  news  much  as  he 
had  received  unhopeful  ;  to  neither  had  he  much  to  say. 
For  the  most  part  he  lay  through  the  long,  light  March 
afternoon  in  silence,  eyes  on  the  door  and  ears  acutely 
sharpened  for  any  sound  which  might  indicate  word  from 
the  office  or  yard.  No  word  came  and  no  sound  from  the 
outer  world  till  Mary,  tapping  at  the  door,  called  Mrs. 
Grimstone  out.  Ezra  moved  slightly,  but  the  woman 
would  be  charged  with  no  message  from  the  yard  or  office, 
and  nothing  else  mattered.  Ezra  lay  looking  before  him 
again,  listening  as  before. 

"Wants  me?"  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  saying  by  the  door. 
"Very  well,  I'll  come.  I  won't  be  a  minute,  dear." 

Ezra  did  not  answer,  it  was  of  no  importance  whether  she 
was  one  minute  or  twenty  ;  her  coming  and  going  were  as 
the  coming  and  going  of  the  night  and  the  day  to  him, 
inevitable,  necessary  no  doubt,  but  making  no  impression  of 
taste  or  distaste.  She  was  not  long  gone  this  time,  in  a 
little  she  returned  bringing  word  that  Mr.  Williams,  the 
minister,  was  below. 

Mr.  Williams  had  been  several  times  to  inquire  after  the 
122 


DESIRE 

invalid,  and  had  had  one  or  two  sympathetic  talks  with 
Mrs.  Grimstone.  To-day,  hearing  of  the  great  improve- 
ment and  the  good  hope  for  the  future,  he  suggested  that 
perhaps  the  sick  man  would  like  a  few  words  with  his 
pastor.  Mrs.  Grimstone  came  to  ask  if  the  invalid  thought 
it  would  be  too  much  for  him. 

He  did  not  think  so — it  would  make  no  difference  ;  it  was 
one  of  the  necessary  things  that  must  happen  sooner  or  later 
to  him  as  a  chapel  member.  It  might  as  well  be  now  as  not. 
Mrs.  Grimstone  led  the  pastor  up-stairs  and  left  him  there. 

A  well-meaning  man,  Mr.  Williams,  perhaps  a  little  given 
to  the  use  of  the  set  expressions  of  his  office,  but  not  to  be 
accused  of  cant  on  that  account,  for  most  of  them  had 
become  as  natural  to  him  as  the  lurid  language  of  a  bargee 
is  to  him.  With  Ezra  Grimstone  Mr.  Williams  was  not 
intimately  acquainted,  he  had  supped  at  the  grey  house  once 
and  talked  of  edification  and  schism  and  similar  things,  but 
beyond  that  his  acquaintance  did  not  go.  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
of  course,  he  knew  a  little  better,  and  he  had  that  day  been 
talking  to  her  of  the  hand  of  the  Lord  and  of  mercies  and 
blessings.  She  had  listened  with  appreciation  and  wiped  her 
eyes  afterwards  ;  but  when  he  spoke  in  the  same  strain  to 
Ezra  there  was  no  answer. 

He  put  that  down  to  the  invalid's  weak  state,  and  went 
on  to  say  a  little  more,  concluding  fervently,  "  How  much, 
how  very  much  we  have  to  be  thankful  for  !  " 

"  Glad — you — have,"  the  unsteady  tongue  answered. 

"  Glad  r "  Mr.  Williams,  not  yet  used  to  the  speech, 
hardly  understood.  "You  are  glad,  dear  friend,  that  your 
tongue  is  given  to  you  again  to  praise  the  Lord,  that  your 
feet  by  and  by  shall  bear  you  again  to  His  house." 

Ezra  made  no  answer,  but  the  expression  of  his]  face  was 
grim.  Mr.  Williams  did  not  see  it. 

123 


DESIRE 

"  Your  hands,"  he  went  on,  warming  to  his  topic,  "  your 
hands  will  rest  awhile — what  a  blessing  He  can  make  these 
resting-times  !  A  quiet  resting-time,  a  pause  in  these  your 
latter  days  in  which  to  think  and  to  gather  together  the 
harvest  of  a  busy  life.  Truly  there  is  much  to  be  thankful 
for  !  " 

"  There  is  not !  " 

The  words  were  emphatic,  the  clearest  Ezra  had  spoken 
since  his  seizure  ;  they  seemed  to  have  been  jerked  up  from 
some  inner  depths. 

Mr.  Williams  was  startled  by  them.  "  You  are  not 
thankful  ?  No  ;  I  misunderstand  you.  You  are  sensible 
of  the  great  mercies  that  have  been  shown  you  in  your 
affliction." 

"  I  am  not !  "  the  same  emphasis  and  the  same  unmistakable 
clearness. 

Mr.  Williams,  having  seen  Ezra  Grimstone  Sunday  after 
Sunday  in  chapel,  knowing  him  for  a  member  of  the 
congregation  and  an  austere  and  upright  man,  could  hardly 
believe  his  ears. 

"  A  professing  Christian,"  he  said  ;  "  a  chapel  member  ! 
My  dear  friend  I  fear  your  affliction  has  for  a  moment 
turned  your  heart ;  you  do  not  see  the  hand  of  the 
Lord." 

"  I  do  "  Ezra  retorted  ;  "  the  Lord  can  do  as  He  pleases — 
but  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  pleased " 

He  hesitated  as  he  spoke,  and  stumbled  in  spite  of  his 
efforts,  but  the  words  lost  nothing  of  point,  they  were 
unmistakably  clear  to  Mr.  Williams  although  the  speaker's 
attitude  was  not. 

"  I  believed  that  you  had  found  grace "  he  began  but 

Ezra  cut  him  short. 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  he  said.     "  This  is  my 
124 


DESIRE 

matter  ;  I  have  nothing  to  say  of  it — but  neither  has  another 
— I  can  hold  my  tongue,  but  I  cannot  lie — I  don't  want 
another  to  lie  for  me  to  or  of  my  Maker.  Will  you  offer  a 
prayer  ? " 

Mr  Williams  clasped  and  unclasped  his  hands  in  real 
distress.  He  had  often  spoken  of  the  Old  Adam  in  his 
sermons,  but  he  did  not  know  him  when  he  met  him,  nor 
did  he  realize  that  it  was  possible  that  an  upright  and  God- 
fearing man  might  still  be  a  primal  creature  with  the  pride 
of  Lucifer  and  the  anger  of  a  trapped  beast.  There  was 
another  thing  he  did  not  realize — when  the  shutter  was 
dropped  again  on  a  momentarily  exposed  soul.  He  addressed 
himself  to  this  soul  now,  but  the  shutter  was  down  and  the 
glimpse  of  the  turmoil  within  gone,  the  words  slid  by  as 
the  singing  of  Psalms  on  Sunday.  When  he  ceased  Ezra 
repeated  his  request  for  prayer,  as  he  would  have  repeated  a 
request  for  any  other  customary  thing,  grace  before  dinner, 
receipt  for  payment.  And  Williams,  good  man,  regarding 
the  repetition  as  an  indication  of  softening,  fulfilled  it  and 
went  away,  not  satisfied  perhaps,  but  hopeful. 

And  Ezra  addressed  himself  again  to  his  watch  of  the  door 
and  his  listening  for  sounds  he  did  not  hear. 

The  afternoon  waned,  the  light  lingering  long,  at  last 
grew  dim,  he  could  hardly  see  the  face  of  the  clock  when 
from  time  to  time  his  eyes  turned  to  it.  Mrs.  Grimstone 
had  come  back  some  while  ago  ;  she  talked  sometimes  and 
sometimes  read  aloud  scraps  from  the  paper,  but  as  she  asked 
for  neither  answer  nor  comment  it  made  no  appreciable 
difference  what  she  did. 

At  last  Ezra  roused  himself  to  speak.  "  Has  Peter  come 
in  r  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  she  answered  ;  "  he  said  he  would  not  have  any  tea 
to-day.  I  wish  he  would  ;  I  don't  like  his  missing  meals  like 

125 


DESIRE 

this.  You  know  he  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  had  a  proper 
dinner  to-day,  or  yesterday  either,  or  a  good  many  other  days. 
He  says  he's  too  busy.  He  must  be  very  busy  ;  he  goes  back 
to  work  after  supper  every  night.  I  do  hope  he  won't  work 
too  hard  and  make  himself  ill." 

"  He  won't,"  Ezra  said  shortly.  There  was  a  line 
between  his  brows ;  he,  like  Alexander,  disliked  long 
sentences  ;  experience  had  taught  this  to  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
and  she  usually  so  little  indulged  her  natural  tendency  this 
way  that  she  had  almost  lost  the  habit.  It  irritated  him  that 
she  should  speak  so  now,  he  even  fancied  that  it  might  be 
an  indication  that  he  was  losing  his  old  grip  on  things. 

The  hours  drew  slowly  on,  the  lamp  was  lighted  and  the 
curtains  drawn,  still  Peter  did  not  come.  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
seeing  the  watch  kept  on  the  door,  suggested  that  she  should 
fetch  him. 

"  Certainly  not,"  Ezra  said  j  "  I  don't  want  to  see 
him." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  said  no  more  and  they  settled  to  a  silent 
evening.  When  she  came  up  after  supper  she  announced 
that  Peter  had  been  in  to  that  meal  though  he  had  not  stayed 
long.  "  He's  gone  back  to  work,"  she  said  ;  "  they  have  all 
gone  back.  Bolt  is  still  here  ;  they  have  sent  some  supper  out 
to  him." 

Ezra  grunted  as  if  that  was  as  it  should  be. 

His  wife,  however,  did  not  think  so.  "I  believe  they  are 
going  to  work  all  night,"  she  ventured. 

It  was  not  entirely  Ezra's  fancy  ;  his  illness,  and  the  new 
importance  it  had  given  her,  did  sometimes,  quite  unconsci- 
ously, lead  Mrs.  Grimstone  to  say  more  perhaps  than  she 
would  have  done  before. 

"I  told  Peter  to  come  to  you,"  she  said.  "I  told  him  to 
come  so  soon  as  he  left  off  work,  and  he  said  he  was  afraid 

126 


DESIRE 

that  would  not  be  till  too  late — or  too  early  !  And  Ezra, 
do  you  know,  I  believe  he  has  done  it  before  !  When  I 
told  him  he  mustn't  work  so  late  he  laughed  and  said  he 
was  quite  used  to  it  ! " 

Again  Ezra  muttered  an  acquiescence,  he  did  not  seem 
distressed  by  the  news.  Indeed,  it  seemed  to  satisfy  him 
somewhat  for  soon  after  he  gave  up  his  listening  and  watching 
and  submitted  to  being  settled  for  the  night  with  that  curious 
forced  patience  which  characterized  him. 

He  slept  lightly  and  fitfully  at  times,  very  lightly  that 
night ;  in  the  grey  of  the  morning  some  one  crossing  the 
landing  woke  him.  He  knew  the  step,  it  was  Robert's. 
Robert,  ordinarily,  had  no  business  to  be  there,  the  kitchen, 
back  stairs  and  servants'  quarters  were  all  quite  separate  from 
the  front  part  of  the  house. 

"  Robert  !  "  Ezra  said. 

The  old  man  opened  the  door  ;  his  face  looked  haggard  in 
the  light  of  the  night-light  and  the  struggling  grey  dawn, 
and  the  rims  of  his  eyes  were  red  as  from  want  of  sleep,  but 
there  was  a  certain  grudging  satisfaction  about  him. 

"I  was  just  listening  to  hear  if  you  was  awake,  maister," 
he  said  in  his  emotionless  sing-song.  "  I  thought  maybe  if 
you  was,  I'd  give  you  a  call  to  say  we're  done." 

"  Ah  !  "  Ezra  said,  his  voice,  too,  was  motionless  but  his 
eyes  glittered.  "  Packed  ?  " 

"  'N  ready  to  go,"  Robert  answered ;  "  they're  takin'  the 
crates  to  the  cut l  side  now." 

"  Why  ? "  Ezra  asked  sharply.  "  They  must  not  be  left 
there,  they  might  be  tampered  with." 

"  They  won't,"  Robert  said  ;  "  the  barge'll  be  up  in  less'n 
an  hour." 

But  Ezra  was  insistent,  the  crates  must  be  kept  under  lock 

1  Cut  =  canal. 
127 


DESIRE 

and  key  till  the  barge  came  ;  Robert,  unconvinced,  and  still 
muttering  his  want  of  conviction,  undertook  to  see  to  it. 

He  did  not,  however,  go  out  again,  he  went  up  to  his 
room  which  looked  out  at  the  back,  and  opening  the 
window  called  the  order  to  Peter,  who  was  still  in  the 
yard. 

"All  right,"  Peter  said,  and  the  old  man  closed  the 
window,  drew  down  the  blind  and  went  to  bed. 

Peter  stood  a  moment  looking  at  the  crates  ranged  on  the 
canal  bank. 

"  We  won't  move  them  again,"  he  said  to  Bolt  who  had 
helped  to  bring  them  out ;  "  the  barge  will  be  here  in  half- 
an-hour  or  so  j  I  will  stay  with  them,  that  will  do  just  as 
well,  you  had  better  go.  Good-night,  or  rather  good- 
morning." 

Bolt  did  not  go.  "  I'll  stop  here,  maister,"  he  said. 
"  What's  the  good  o'  goin'  home  now  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  come  back  to-day,"  Peter  said ;  he  knew 
the  lonely  cottage  among  the  bleak  hills  where  Bolt  lived 
with  his  old  grandmother,  it  was  a  long  way  from  here. 

"  I'd  soonest  stop,"  Bolt  answered. 

"  As  you  like,"  Peter  said,  supposing  he  was  too  tired  to 
care  for  the  long,  rough  walk.  "Better  go  into  one  of  the 
sheds,  you  can  sleep  there." 

Bolt  hesitated.  "I  s'pose  I'd  hear  if  any  one  came — it 
anythink  happened  ? " 

"  Of  course,"  Peter  said,  and  Bolt  slouched  away. 

Peter  sat  down  by  the  crates  wondering  a  little  what  Alex- 
ander had  done  to  rouse  animosity  in  this  mind  of  few  emotions. 
Of  course  it  was  Alexander  who  Bolt  thought  might  come 
or  send  for  some  nefarious  purpose  j  and  Alexander  that  the 
sick  man  in  the  house  thought  of.  Peter  knew  that  it  was 
not  in  the  least  likely  Alexander  would  do  any  such  foolish 

128 


DESIRE 

thing,  or  even  think  of  it,  or  know  it  possible  :  but  that  they 
should  have  thought  of  it  showed  the  kind  of  opinion  held 
here  and  the  kind  of  hate  hated.  But  Peter  did  not  concern 
himself  greatly  with  the  matter,  he  did  not  concern  himself 
with  anything,  he  was  too  tired.  In  a  few  minutes  he 
was  nodding  to  sleep  as  he  sat,  though  he  woke  again 
directly,  stiff  and  chilly.  The  morning  air  was  rawly  cold, 
he  rubbed  his  hands  together  and  felt  the  skin  gritty  from 
the  work  he  had  been  doing — the  work  that  was  done.  He 
looked  at  the  crates  with  a  sense  of  ownership  faintly  related 
to  the  feeling  he  had  had  when  he  first  handled  the  bound 
copies  of  The  Dreamer.  It  was  something  done,  not  very 
well  done,  perhaps,  but  still  something,  a  tangible  presenta- 
tion of  an  idea.  The  idea  !  What  was  it  ? — he  was 
getting  very  drowsy  again.  It  was  not  pot-making, 
earthenware,  china  clay,  firing,  dipping  and  packing.  They 
were  the  medium  ?  Yes,  of  course,  the  medium,  just  as 
ink  and  paper  and  words  were  a  medium — the  idea  was 
something  different.  It  was — what  was  it  ?  Was  it 
Alexander — or  Grimstones',  perhaps  ?  Or  a  fight  ? — he  had 
a  vague  feeling  of  having  fought  a  long  time,  though  it 
did  not  seem  at  all  clear  with  or  for  what.  But  it  was 
interesting — perhaps  some  day,  in  a  book — a  long  book — or 
another  life  perhaps — it  would  be  possible  to  work  it  out — 
the  concreting  of  an  idea — in  different  forms — or  chapters. 

His  head  nodded  and  he  woke  with  a  jerk.  He  rose  and, 
stretching,  walked  down  to  the  water's  edge  to  wake  and 
warm  himself. 

The  light  was  coming  fast  now,  all  the  low,  open  land 
beyond  the  canal  was  silver  pale  ;  a  small  hoar  frost  lay  on 
the  ground  and  a  thin  mist  hung  in  the  air,  though  things 
were  very  clear  in  spite  of  it.  There  were  some  bushes  on 
the  other  side  of  the  canal,  the  lower  branches  seemed  more 

9  "9 


DESIRE 

distant  than  the  upper  by  reason  of  the  mist  which  was 
thickest  close  on  the  water.  There  was  never  a  hint  of 
bud  or  sign  of  life  in  the  bushes,  never  a  gleam  of  green  or 
gold  in  the  pale  landscape,  yet  there  was  a  feeling  of  spring 
even  in  the  cold  air.  The  birds  were  singing,  they  had 
been  singing  a  long  time,  before  it  was  fairly  light,  only 
he  had  not  heard  them  before.  He  heard  them  now  and 
wondered  at  the  extraordinary  penetrating  liquidness  of  the 
notes  in  the  thin  air ;  in  some  way  it  intensified  the  silence 
and  made  him  feel  very  far  away  from  the  world,  as  one 
feels  on  a  mountain  top. 

The  mist,  lying  on  the  water,  began  to  rise,  like  some 
ghost  thing  that  gathers  its  skirts  and  flees  at  the  coming  of 
the  working  day.  Far  off,  carried  up  on  the  water,  came 
a  human  voice,  a  man  speaking  to  a  horse,  then  silence 
again,  but  not  the  same  aloofness,  the  world  was  becoming 
man's  world,  the  mist  was  gone  and  the  hoar  frost  was 
thinning,  showing  the  green  of  grass  here  and  there.  By 
and  by  came  the  sound  of  a  horse  plodding  along  the  tow- 
path,  and  afterwards,  in  due  time,  the  animal  came  into 
sight,  his  breath  streaming  out  into  the  cold  air  as  the 
smoke  from  the  little  stove  on  the  barge  streamed  out, 
tarnishing  for  a  minute  the  clearness. 

It  was  a  small  matter,  though  to  Peter  unnecessarily 
lengthy  in  the  doing — the  loading  of  the  crates,  the  ex- 
change of  some  few  words  and  the  getting  under  way. 

At  last  the  barge  moved  again,  the  man  by  the  towing 
horse  cracked  his  whip  and  called  something  to  the  man 
by  the  little  stove,  who  not  troubling  to  answer,  he  began 
to  whistle.  The  whistle  grew  fainter  and  fainter  in  the 
distance,  until  the  quiet  swallowed  it  up,  and  the  ripples 
left  by  the  barge  on  the  canal  grew  less  and  less  till  the 
water  was  still  again.  Peter  turned  and  went  into  the  house. 

130 


CHAPTER  IX 

EZRA  GRIMSTONE  progressed  on  the  lines  indicated  by  the 
doctor  as  likely.  By  the  middle  of  April  he  had  to  a  great 
extent  recovered  his  speech,  and  spoke  no  more  seldom  and 
little  less  plainly  than  of  old  ;  by  that  time,  too,  he  had 
begun  to  get  about  a  little.  He  had  not  been  brought  down- 
stairs, but  he  moved  about  in  his  own  room  with  assistance, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  helplessness,  was  to  a  certain  extent 
restored  to  his  old  position.  He  could  not  go  down  to  the 
yard  or  office,  it  is  true,  but  he  could  and  did  know  every- 
thing that  was  done  there,  and  practically  direct  affairs. 
Daily  minute  accounts  had  to  be  rendered  by  Peter,  checked 
usually  by  Robert,  who,  with  the  reinstating  and  partial 
recovery  of  the  master,  was  also  back  in  his  former  position. 
During  the  earlier  days  of  Ezra's  illness,  and  in  the  time 
when  there  was  so  much  to  do,  Peter  had  assumed  command, 
and  the  old  man  had  sourly  but  unquestioningly  let  him. 
That  was  over  now,  and  Peter  was  once  more  entirely  sub- 
ordinate. Bolt  had  also  returned  to  his  original  position — 
or  his  original  lethargy — what  he  was  paid  for,  that  he  did 
grudgingly,  and  extra  pay  for  extra  work  had  small  charm 
for  one  who  had  few  opportunities  and  fewer  tastes  for 
spending ;  there  was  not  much  to  be  got  out  of  him. 

The  whole  arrangement  was  unsatisfactory  ;  Peter  knew 
it ;  the  division  of  a  director  who  cannot  even  look  at  the 
work,  and  a  lieutenant  with  small  experience  and  no  autho- 
rity, is  bad  and  bound  to  work  badly.  There  was  small 


DESIRE 

satisfaction  for  any  one  ;  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
satisfy  Ezra  anyhow,  and  impossible  for  Peter  to  satisfy  him- 
self, seeing  that  he  was  trying  to  work  on  his  father's  plan, 
although  he  was  one  essentially  suited  to  work  out  his  own 
way  only.  There  was  little  doing  now  at  the  pottery,  so 
the  great  waste  of  time  entailed  by  the  present  arrange- 
ment did  not  so  much  matter.  By  all  being  occupied 
all  the  time  they  just  got  through,  and  the  afternoon  quiet 
of  slow  decay  settled  down  on  the  place  more  firmly  than 
ever. 

And  the  novel  was  untouched.  Sometimes,  when  he  was 
doing  purely  mechanical  work,  Peter  thought  about  it  and 
planned  to  alter  this  or  that.  But  it  wanted  more  than 
altering,  more  than  he  could  give  it  now  ;  it  had  got  into 
two  or  three  different  keys  ;  he  had  lost  the  original  theme, 
the  primary  inspiring  idea  had  become  confused,  he  was  not 
himself  any  longer  sure  what  he  had  to  say.  Once  or  twice 
he  took  the  manuscript  out  and  looked  at  it,  but  he  never 
had  any  length  of  time  to  devote  to  it,  and,  besides,  the  thing 
itself  seemed  to  be  gone  from  him.  His  present  life,  it  is 
true,  did  not  make  large  demands  on  his  intellect,  but  it 
made  very  large  ones  on  his  patience,  his  energy  and  his  slow- 
working  mind  ;  it  seemed  to  leave  him  very  little  margin. 
No  doubt  there  was  a  loose*  screw  in  his  intellectual  consti- 
tution, seeing  that  he  was  unable  to  do  two  things,  certainly 
he  was  not  one  of  those  who  storm  the  world's  heights,  only 
a  plodder  on  an  uphill  path. 

On  a  Sunday  at  the  end  of  April  Peter  took  out  the  manu- 
script for  what  proved  to  be  the  last  time  for  long.  He 
looked  at  it  a  little,  making  a  correction  here  and  there  from 
force  of  habit,  then  he  looked  up  and  out  of  window.  He 
was  at  the  time  in  his  own  room  and  the  window  was 
towards  the  hills,  towards  a  gap  in  them,  so  that  one  saw 

132 


DESIRE 

not  only  the  grey  rampart  but  also  a  glimpse  of  the  open  land 
beyond.  For  a  moment  he  sat  thinking  of  the  patched  book, 
of  its  incoherency  and  his  own  incompetency.  Then  by 
chance  his  eye  was  arrested  by  a  fluff  of  gold  over  the  road, 
a  palm  bush  in  blossom  in  the  swampy  ground  at  the  foot  of 
the  steep  path.  Suddenly  there  came  to  his  mind  the  smell 
of  the  tufted  branches  as  they  grew  here  and  there  in  the 
soft  spots  on  the  hillsides.  It  was  imagination  purely,  but  it 
was  so  plain  that  for  a  minute  he  almost  seemed  to  hear  the 
humming  of  the  bees  busy  about  the  flowers.  He  rose  and, 
putting  the  manuscript  into  a  drawer,  went  out.  Whatever 
else  had  gone  these  at  least  were  left — the  sun  and  the  wind 
and  the  good  days  which  befall  the  earth  in  times  of  man's 
fortune  and  his  misfortune. 

Far  on  in  the  afternoon,  but  before  Peter  was  back,  some 
one  came  to  the  grey  house.  Mrs.  Grimstone,  dozing  over 
a  sermon  in  her  husband's  room,  did  not  hear  the  knock,  and 
was  quite  startled  when  Mary  came  up  to  tell  her  she  was 
wanted. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  she  asked. 

Mary  beckoned  her  out  and  carefully  shut  the  door.  "  Mr. 
Alexander,"  she  said  shortly. 

"  Alexander ! "  Mrs.  Grimstone  exclaimed,  and  then 
looked  behind  her  as  if  fearful  the  shut  door  should  have 
heard.  "  Is  he  here  ?  Did  he — did  he  ask  for  the  master  ? 
He  is  here  r  " 

"  In  the  parlour,  waiting,"  Mary  said,  and  Mrs.  Grimstone 
went  hastily  down-stairs. 

Alexander  was  standing  by  the  window  when  she  went 
in,  looking  precisely  as  he  had  looked  when  he  last  came  more 
than  a  year  ago,  and  now,  as  then,  as  much  at  home  as  if  he 
had  but  walked  out  that  morning. 

"  Alexander  !  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  exclaimed. 

'33 


DESIRE 

And — "  Well,  Mother,"  he  said,  just  as  he  had  said  the 
last  time. 

"  How's  the  old  man  ?  "  he  asked,  when  he  had  kissed  her 
perfunctorily. 

"  Your  father  ?  He's  better.  He's  been  very  ill,  you 
know.  Did  you  hear  about  it  ? " 

"  I  heard,  that's  why  I  came  ;  I  was  over  in  this  part  ot 
the  world,  so  I  thought  I'd  look  in  arid  hear  about  him." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  smiled  with  pleasure.  "  I'm  so  glad," 
she  said,  "  so  glad  you  thought  of  it — you're  so  busy,  too,  I 
was  afraid  at  one  time  you  and  he  had  perhaps — didn't  agree 
quite  last  year." 

"  We  didn't,  but  I  don't  bear  malice — never  do,  for  the 
matter  of  that." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  appreciated  this  magnanimity.  "  I'll  go 
and  tell  your  father  you  are  here,"  she  said.  She  was  not 
quite  sure  how  Ezra  would  receive  the  news  or  the  visitor, 
but  she  felt  she  must  go  and  tell  him  at  once,  she  had  no 
right  to  have  her  son's  society  clandestinely. 

But  Alexander  was  not  in  such  a  hurry.  "  There's  plenty 
of  time,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  a  bit  of  time  to  put  in  here  ; 
you  and  I  may  as  well  have  a  talk  first.  Tell  me  about  the 
old  man's  illness,  how  it  happened  and  all  the  rest." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  therefore  told  him,  explaining  fully  and 
freely  all  that  had  occurred.  Peter's  name,  of  course,  came 
in  more  than  once  in  her  narrative.  Finally  Alexander,  who 
had  rather  the  air  of  listening  more  or  less,  specially  less, 
picked  it  out.  "  Peter  ? "  he  said,  "  I  heard  he  was  here." 

"Such  a  good  thing,"  his  mother  said.  "  Of  course  he's 
not  so  clever  as  you,  but  he's  quite  your  father's  right  hand 
now.  I  don't  know  what  he'd  do  without  him." 

"  H'm,"  was  Alexander's  comment.  "  I  thought  Peter 
was  by  way  of  being  a  poet,  or  something  of  that  sort." 


DESIRE 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  wrote  a  book,  not  poetry  but  a  beautiful 
book  "  (Mrs.  Grimstone  may  have  been  thinking  of  the  out- 
side, as  it  is  not  certain  she  had  read  all  the  in),  "  but  of 
course  when  your  father  offered  him  to  come  here  he  was 
glad  to  come,  and,  as  I  say,  it  is  a  very  good  thing  he  did." 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  he'd  make  much  of  a  potter," 
Alexander  said.  "  Are  they  busy  now  ?  I  suppose  not. 
Peter  ought  to  do  all  right  if  there  wasn't  too  much  on 
hand." 

"  Peter  works  very  well,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  said,  and  after- 
wards, with  a  little  questioning  from  Alexander,  she  told 
what  she  could  of  the  doing  of  Grimstones'  in  the  weeks  of 
the  master's  illness.  It  was  not  very  much,  and  Alexander's 
interest  soon  ceased  ;  when  it  ceased  he  did  not  scruple  to 
stop  his  mother  by  another  question. 

"  Who  works  here  now  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Robert  and  Bolt." 

"  Bolt  ?  Don't  remember  him.  Oh,  the  boy,  of  course, 
there  used  to  be  a  fuddle-headed  lout  of  some  sort,  I  remem- 
ber. And  old  Robert — how's  he  ?  At  home  to-day  ?  I 
must  have  a  talk  with  him  by  and  by." 

"  He  is  out,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  said  ;  "  he  has  gone  to 
afternoon  chapel — the  Ark,  you  know,  where  he  and  Mary 
always  go.  It's  a  long  way  from  here  ;  she  can't  manage  to 
go  for  the  afternoon  class  meeting  if  she  goes  in  the  morning, 
but  he  always  does." 

It  did  not  occur  to  Mrs.  Grimstone  to  doubt  if  Alexander 
were  quite  sincere  in  his  wish  to  talk  with  Robert,  his 
father's  loyal  adherent,  nor  did  it  occur  to  her  to  think  it 
strange  that  Alexander  should  have  forgotten  this  invariable 
Sunday  habit  of  the  old  man.  Her  interest  was  not  centred 
in  these  things  just  now,  but  in  the  grandchildren,  about 
whom  there  seemed  so  little  opportunity  to  ask. 

135 


DESIRE 

"  The  kids  ? "  Alexander  said,  when  at  last  she  managed 
to  put  the  question — "  Oh,  they're  all  right.  One  of  'em's 
got  the  whooping  cough." 

"  The  whooping  cough  !     Oh,  my  dear  !  " 

"  Beastly  nuisance,  can't  go  to  school,  nor  can  the  other. 
I  say  she  had  much  better  look  sharp  and  get  it  and  have  it 
over.  Florence  is  a  fool,  she  makes  no  end  of  a  fuss,  she 
cockers  the  children  up.  Peter's  not  in,  is  he  ?  When  do 
you  expect  him  ? " 

Mrs.  Grimstone  did  not  know,  but  she  thought  soon,  as  it 
was  nearly  tea-time. 

It  was  not  such  a  great  while  before  Peter  did  come  in. 
If  he  was  surprised  to  see  Alexander  he  did  not  show  it,  and 
if  the  real  purpose  of  Alexander's  visit  had  been  to  see  him 
that  was  not  shown  either.  The  brothers  presented  some- 
thing of  a  contrast  to  one  another.  Alexander  was  the  taller 
though  Peter  the  more  powerfully  built.  Alexander  spoke 
and  moved  quickly,  for  one  of  his  family  he  talked  a  good 
deal  at  times,  and  in  his  movements  there  was  an  energy  and 
restlessness  which  was  very  noticeable.  Peter  spoke  much 
more  slowly,  using  few  words  and  seeming  to  choose  them  ; 
and  for  his  movements,  he  was  so  still  and  sometimes  so 
almost  unready  that  one  was  liable  to  be  unprepared  for  the 
swift  precision  his  actions  occasionally  showed.  In  type  of 
head  they  were  opposed  too,  Alexander  the  long  and  narrow, 
Peter  the  short  and  flattened.  Alexander  had  a  curiously 
slit-like  mouth,  given  to  unbeautiful  smiling  ;  Peter's  fuller 
and  more  mobile  lips  smiled  little.  Alexander's  eyes  were 
light  and  particularly  bright ;  Peter's  intensely  grey,  very 
direct  and  serious.  Both  had  inherited  the  father's  square 
jaw,  and  each  seemed  to  possess  the  true  Grimstone  capacity 
for  keeping  his  own  counsel.  As  they  sat  at  tea  and  talked 
on  a  variety  of  topics,  mostly  of  the  elder's  introduction, 

136 


DESIRE 

Alexander  did  not  fail  to  observe  how  little  Peter  said.  He 
put  it  down  to  caution  and  a  fear  of  betraying  himself. 

After  tea,  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  dismissed  by  Alexander, 
who  had  a  somewhat  cavalier  fashion  of  dismissing  his 
womenfolk  when  he  wanted  to  be  rid  of  them.  He  told 
her  now  to  go  and  tell  his  father  that  he  had  come,  and  when 
she  was  gone  on  the  errand  he  turned  to  Peter  with  the  air 
of  one  coming  to  business. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"Doing?" 

"  Yes,  what's  Grimstones'  doing  ?  " 

"  Much  as  usual,"  Peter  said,  with  the  polite  indifference 
of  one  speaking  of  an  indifferent  subject. 

"  Is  the  old  man  directing  ? "  Alexander  asked.  "  I 
suppose  he  is.  How  long's  he  going  to  keep  it  on  ?  " 

"  So  long  as  he  lives,  I  imagine." 

"  Game  old  cock.  Still,  he  won't  live  for  ever  ;  what's 
going  to  happen  when  he  dies  ? " 

"I  don't  know." 

Alexander  laughed,  his  short  laugh  which  somehow 
suggested  a  bark. 

"  You're  a  bit  of  a  fool,  you  know,  Peter,"  he  said  good- 
naturedly  ;  "  I  suppose  you  think  I'm  trying  to  pump  you, 
come  to  see  what  you're  up  to.  I've  not,  it's  not  to  you  I'd 
come  for  that,  you  can  make  yourself  easy  on  that  score  ;  I 
know  all  I  want  to  about  Grimstones'.  I  know  you  all  tore 
your  guts  out  to  worry  through  with  that  order,  and  I  know, 
though  I  own  I  didn't  last  year,  that  you  aren't  so  flourish- 
ing here  as  most  think  you  ;  I  know  precisely  how  you 
stand." 

Peter  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  it,  and,  not  doubting,  he 
equally  saw  no  reason  to  remark  on  it. 

"  What  I'm  here  for,"  Alexander  went  on,  leaning  his 

137 


DESIRE 

back  against  the  mantelpiece,  "  is  to  give  you  a  leg  up  if  you 
want  it.  I've  got  some  money  idle,  I  should  rather  like  to 
have  it  in  the  old  firm  ;  I  don't  go  in  for  sentiment,  but, 
other  things  even,  I'd  sooner  have  it  in  the  old  concern  than 
anything.  I've  a  notion  the  other  things  might  be  made 
even,  so  there  it  is  when  you  want  it." 

"Thank  you,"  Peter  said  in  the  same  entirely  polite  and 
indifferent  way,  "  but  I'm  afraid  it's  no  use  speaking  of  it  to 
me." 

"  You've  got  no  say  in  things  ?  "  Alexander  asked,  then 
laughed  ;  "  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  have,"  he  said.  It 
amused  him,  even  though  it  temporarily  upset  his  plans,  to 
see  how  poorly  Ezra  thought  of  the  son  who  for  spite  he 
had  taken  to  be  with  him  ;  it  pleased  him,  too,  to  think 
that,  after  experience,  the  old  man  saw  no  reason  to  alter 
his  opinion. 

"  Do  you  know  what  we  fell  out  about,  he  and  I  ?  "  he 
asked,  biting  his  thumb  nail. 

"  I've  not  heard  much  about  it,"  Peter  answered. 

"  Oh  ?  You  don't  know  ?  Well,  as  he  hasn't  told  you 
I  won't.  But  I'll  tell  you  this  much,  the  old  man's  no  more 
likely  to  have  any  of  my  money  in  the  business  on  his  own 
account  than  he  is  to  fly.  I  came  over  to  propose  it  because 
I  thought  you'd  be  likely  to  have  some  sort  of  say  in  things 
by  this  time,  especially  as  the  old  chap's  doubled  up.  I 
reckoned  that  if  you  had  you'd  have  the  sense  to  see  the 
advantage  of  my  offer  and  either  to  persuade  or  compel  him 
to  take  it." 

"  I  see,"  said  Peter. 

"Of  course,  you'll  come  to  that  some  day,"  Alexander 
went  on.  "  He'll  get  more  and  more  dotty  by  degrees,  and 
though  he'll  hang  on  to  every  scrap  of  power  he  can  to  the 
last,  you'll  soon  have  to  run  things  on  your  own  more  or 

138 


DESIRE 

less,  and  shut  your  mouth  about  it.  When  you  do,  and 
when  you  want  help,  you'd  better  come  to  me.  It'd  pay 
you  best  to  do  it — pay  me  too,  of  course  ;  I'm  not  a  philan- 
thropist, but  you'll  have  to  go  to  some  one,  and  it  had  better 
be  me."  He  shot  a  glance  at  Peter,  from  which  one  might 
have  fancied  he  was  not  so  sure  of  his  facts  as  he  sounded, 
wishful  rather  of  getting  a  hint  as  to  how  far  they  were 
well  founded.  "  And  look  here,"  he  went  on  more  genially, 
"  any  time  you  get  into  a  howling  muddle — and  being  a 
poet  and  not  a  potter,  of  course  you  will  sooner  or  later — 
you'd  better  let  me  know,  and  I'll  pull  you  out  of  it  if  I  can, 
or  at  all  events  advise  you." 

"  Thank  you,"  Peter  said. 

Alexander  looked  at  him  with  the  unbeautiful  smile 
twisting  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  showing  his  yellow 
teeth.  "  Does  that  mean  you  will  or  you  won't  ? "  he  asked, 
with  the  amusement  of  one  contemptuous  of  a  caution  he 
can  see  through. 

"  The  opportunity  is  not  likely  to  occur,"  Peter  answered. 

"It  is  dead  sure  to,"  Alexander  retorted.  "And  you're 
dead  sure  to  make  a  muck  of  it  for  fear  of  being  done  !  I 
suppose  you  think  if  I  once  got  a  foot  in  here  I'd  collar  the 
lot  ? " 

"  I  have  not  thought  about  it." 

"  Rot  !  " 

"  But  now  that  you  mention  it,"  Peter  went  on  politely, 
"  I  should  think  such  a  thing  very  probable — if  you  did  get 
a  foot  in." 

Alexander  laughed.  «  If  !  "  he  scoffed.  «  If  !  Don't 
you  know  I  can  have  the  whole  concern  for  nothing  by 
and  by  ?  In  case  you  don't  know  it  I'll  tell  you.  When 
the  old  man's  gone  I  shall  inevitably  be  Grimstones',  the 
only  Grimstones'.  The  most  of  the  old  concern  will 

'39 


DESIRE 

naturally  come  over  to  me.  The  name  and  reputation, 
which  is  all  I  really  want,  will  come  without  my  agreement 
or  purchase  money  or  anything.  I  shall  call  myself  Grim- 
stones',  and  right  away  I  shall  be  it.  As  for  the  connection, 
I  can  have  that  before  if  I  want  it." 

'*  You  think  so  ?  "  Peter  said  indifferently.  Whether  or 
not  he  thought  so,  or  even  if  he  thought  at  all,  did  not 
appear.  Alexander,  partly  irritated  and  partly  contemptuous 
of  so  stolid  an  antagonist,  went  on  further  to  explain  how  he 
would  become  Grimstones'. 

"  I  make  you  a  present  of  the  information,"  he  concluded. 
"I  don't  mind  playing  with  you  with  the  cards  down.  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,  either,  why  I  was  willing  to  give 
something  for  what  I  can  have  for  nothing  later  on  :  it's 
because  it  is  later  on,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  it,  at  a 
moderate  price,  now.  Oh,  I  can  do  without  it,  don't  excite 
yourself  on  that  point.  But  to  have  it  now  and  without 
trouble's  worth  something  to  me.  If  you  weren't  a  fool 
you'd  see  it  was  worth  a  good  deal  more  to  you.  As  you 
are  there's  an  end " 

He  turned  as  he  spoke,  for  Mrs.  Grimstone  had  entered, 
her  face  troubled  and  a  little  pale. 

"  What  ?  Won't  the  old  man  see  me  ?  "  Alexander  said 
carelessly.  "Well,  I'm  not  surprised,  and  anyhow  I  must 
cut  in  a  minute." 

"  It  isn't  that,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  said.  "  Oh,  Alexander, 
he  is  so  angry  !  He  wants  to  see  you — he  insists  on  it,  and 
he  is  so  dreadfully  upset,  I  have  never  seen  him  like  it.  I 
ought  never  to  have  let  you  stay.  When  he  heard  you  were 
down-stairs  talking  to  Peter  he  was  terrible  !  " 

Alexander  looked  across  at  Peter  and  laughed.  "He 
doesn't  seem  to  have  much  opinion  of  you  and  your  dis- 
cretion," he  said. 

140 


DESIRE 

Peter  did  not  answer,  but  turned  to  his  mother  urging 
her  strongly  not  to  take  Alexander  up-stairs. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  !  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  said,  aghast  at  the 
idea  of  disobedience.  "  He  said  he  was  to  come  at  once." 

"  That  can't  be  helped,"  Peter  told  her  ;  "  he  will  be 
angry  of  course  if  Alexander  does  not  come,  but  nothing 
like  so  angry  as  if  he  does,  that  will  be  far  worse  for  him. 
You  know  what  the  doctor  said  about  excitement." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  did  know,  and  Peter,  seeing  his  advantage, 
followed  it  up  with  further  persuasions,  which  might  have 
brought  her  to  the  point  of  disobeying  her  husband,  for  about 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  had  not  Alexander  interfered.  To 
him  the  fact  that  Peter  did  not  want  him  to  see  his  father 
was  suspicious.  From  it  he  argued  that  the  illness  had 
weakened  the  iron  will  as  well  as  the  iron  constitution,  and 
Peter  was  afraid  that  the  father,  though  angry  now,  would 
be  worked  upon  by  him  (Alexander)  to  his  advantage. 
There  was  something  to  be  gained  by  going,  or  at  all  events 
Peter  fancied  so,  so  Alexander  would  go. 

"  Bosh  !  "  he  said,  when  he  saw  his  mother  wavering  at 
the  thought  of  the  danger  of  excitement.  "  I  shan't  do  him 
any  harm,  not  half  so  much  as  the  fury  he  would  get  into 
when  he  found  he  was  disobeyed.  He'd  never  know  a 
minute's  peace  after,  or  give  you  one  either,  when  once  he 
had  discovered  that  you  didn't  do  as  he  told  you  now  he 
can't  get  about  to  see  after  things  himself." 

"Yes — "  Mrs.  Grimstone  said  doubtfully,  "yes,  I'm 
afraid  that  is  so.  Perhaps  " — this  with  shamefaced  hesitation, 
for  she  was  transparently  honest — "  perhaps  we  ought  to 
tell  him  you  had  to  catch  a  train." 

"And  perhaps  he'd  believe  you,"  Alexander  said  con- 
temptuously. "  No,  I'm  not  going  to  have  that  gammon  ; 
I  came  over  here  to  see  him  and  as  he's  willing  to  see  me 
I'm  not  going  away  without." 

141 


DESIRE 

He  went  to  the  door  as  he  spoke  and  Peter  followed 
him  with  his  eyes.  There  was  something  unnaturally  rigid 
about  Peter,  and  a  curious  little  ripple  seemed  to  pass  through 
his  whole  powerful  frame  ;  the  knuckles  of  his  clenched 
hands  stood  out — for  half  a  second  Alexander  was  in  great 
danger  of  a  broken  head.  Then  the  tension  relaxed,  it  was 
not  the  time  or  place  to  try  conclusions  with  the  weapons 
Peter  best  understood  ;  there  might  come  a  day,  perhaps, 
when  the  raw,  natural  thing  in  him  spoke  out  plainly  to 
Alexander  and  bade  him  stand  up  to  it ;  but  it  was  not 
now,  and  fortunately  man's  wisdom  checked  boy's  impulse. 
Alexander,  quite  unconscious  of  his  momentary  danger, 
went  out,  Mrs.  Grimstone  accompanying  him  as  far  as 
the  door  of  her  husband's  room. 

"  You  won't  upset  him,  will  you  ? "  she  pleaded  rather 
anxiously. 

"  All  right,"  he  said,  and  went  in,  shutting  the  door  after 
him. 

The  house  was  well  built,  the  doors  and  windows,  with 
the  exception  of  one  or  two  altered  in  more  recent  times, 
fitted  very  well.  It  would  have  been  almost  impossible  for 
Mrs.  Grimstone  to  have  heard  anything  which  passed  inside 
the  room  even  if  she  had  tried,  and  she  was  far  from  any 
thought  of  trying.  Indeed,  she  only  lingered  up-stairs  from 
the  vague  instinct  which  keeps  people  near  the  scene  of 
their  anxiety,  even  when  the  affair  is  quite  beyond  their 
control  or  reach.  She  observed  that  the  white  dimity 
curtain  by  the  landing  window  was  crooked,  she  went  and 
set  it  straight  with  the  neat  precision  dear  to  her  soul.  The 
window  looked  west,  and  the  sloping  beams  of  the  evening 
sun  fell  on  the  sober  matting  on  the  floor.  She  did  not 
notice  the  sun  but  she  did  notice  a  thin  place  in  the  matting, 
and  mentally  decided  the  length  must  be  shifted  to-morrow 

142 


DESIRE 

so  as  to  bring  the  worn  part  further  along.  As  she  stooped 
to  see  how  much  there  was  to  shift  she  heard  a  sound — 
Alexander  laughing  his  short,  loud  laugh.  It  made  her 
jump,  but  only  for  a  second,  the  father  and  son  must  be 
getting  on  well  if  there  was  laughing.  Experience  had  not 
succeeded  in  teaching  her  that  when  Alexander  laughed  it 
was  more  often  at  than  with  any  one,  and  that  other  people 
then  seldom  had  much  reason  for  merriment  or  pleasure. 

She  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  strip  of  matting  to  see 
how  much  was  turned  under  there,  a  little  new  piece  at 
that  end  would  be  a  help  in  rearranging  the  strips.  While 
she  looked  she  heard  Peter  come  into  the  hall  below. 

"  Is  that  you,  Peter  ? "  she  asked. 

He  looked  up  to  answer,  coming  a  little  way  up  the 
stairs,  so  that  the  sloping  sunbeams  fell  on  him. 

"I  think  it  is  a  good  thing  Alexander  went "  she 

began,  and  suddenly  stopped.  There  came  a  strange  sound 
from  behind  the  closed  door,  inarticulate,  yet  loud,  for  they 
heard  it  plainly  here,  and  in  some  way  horrible — rage,  pain 
and  impotency  blended  in  its  inhuman  note. 

Peter  sprang  up  the  stairs  and  passed  her ;  but  before  he 
had  reached  his  father's  door  it  was  opened  by  Alexander 
who  came  out  rather  hastily. 

"  Alexander  !     What  is  it  ?  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  cried. 

"  The  old  man's  had  a  fit  or  something,"  Alexander  said. 
"  Here,  you'd  better  not  go  in,"  he  caught  her  by  the  arm 
as  he  spoke,  and  pulled  her  aside  so  that  Peter  could  pass, 
"  he  looks  a  bit  bad." 

She  tried  to  free  herself.     "  I  must  go  !  "  she  said. 

"  Nonsense,"  he  answered  ;  "  Peter's  there,  that's  all 
sufficient.  Come  down-stairs  and  see  about  sending  for  a 
doctor." 

She  hesitated,  but  the  habit  of  obedience,  and  the  necessity 


DESIRE 

of  sending  for  the  doctor  carried  the  day,  and  she  came. 
"  Is  it  a  bad  fit  ? "  she  asked.  "  Is  he  faint  ? " 

"  He'll  be  all  right  after  a  bit,"  Alexander  said  j  "  you 
know  he's  likely  to  get  this  sort  of  thing." 

"  Faintness  ? "  Mrs.  Grimstone  queried. 

"  He's  not  faint,"  Alexander  said  shortly. 

"  Another  stroke  ?  Oh,  Alexander,  did  you  excite  him  ? 
You  must  have  excited  him  !  " 

"  No  I  didn't — he  excited  himself.  Choked  himself  with 
a  curse." 

The  last  was  scarcely  addressed  to  Mrs.  Grimstone,  who 
was  busy  giving  directions  to  Mary  about  fetching  the 
doctor. 

"  Here,  where  does  he  live  ?  I'd  better  go,"  Alexander 
said  impatiently  j  "you  won't  have  him  in  a  month  of 
Sundays  at  this  rate." 

And  he  went  and  brought  the  doctor  back  with  what 
speed  he  could. 

Not  that  it  was  much  use,  no  doctor  could  do  much  for 
Ezra  Grimstone  now.  Another  stroke,  such  as  he,  even  in 
his  most  clear-sighted  moments  had  not  foreseen,  had  fallen 
upon  him.  Speechless,  motionless  he  lay,  with  distorted 
face  and  fierce  fixed  eyes  that  appeared  to  recognize  no  one. 
Everything  but  just  the  bare  breath  of  life  was  gone.  The 
mind  was  gone,  gone  never  to  return  the  doctor  thought, 
though  in  such  a  case,  he  said,  one  cannot  absolutely  foretell. 
And  Peter,  to  whom  this  was  said,  acquiesced,  saying  little. 
He  did  not  know  if  there  was  any  passion  of  revolt  left  in 
the  shrouded  brain,  but  he  did  suddenly  know,  as  he  had  not 
before,  what  there  had  been  beneath  the  outside  calm.  He 
also  knew  now,  as  if  he  had  been  there,  the  fury  of  rage  and 
hate  which  had  boiled  up  to  bring  about  the  last  over- 
whelming catastrophe.  And  he  found  it  hard  to  believe 

144 


DESIRE 

that  this  was  all  gone,  all  dead.  The  passion,  a  moment 
ago  so  terribly,  so  astonishingly  hot,  must,  it  seemed  to  him, 
be  slumbering  and  latent  if  not  still  actually  there  ;  to  think 
otherwise  was  in  some  way  horrible,  almost  like  the  denying 
cf  the  existence  of  soul  and  the  reducing  of  humanity  to 
mere  carrion.  Whatever  Ezra  Grimstone  was  to  others 
to  Peter  he  was  not  and  never  would  be  just  an  inanimate 
heap  of  barely  breathing  flesh.  Whether  it  was  for  days 
or  for  months  or  for  years,  to  Peter  he  would  always  be 
an  impotent,  prisoned  soul ;  speechless,  powerless  to  com- 
municate, locked  away  from  his  kind,  as  in  the  heart  of  an 
iceberg,  but  there,  and  supremely  pitiful. 


10  145 


CHAPTER  X 

THERE  were  disagreeables  in  the  Quebell  household  ;  not 
exactly  outspoken  ones,  certainly  not  quarrels — there  were 
insurmountable  difficulties  in  the  way  of  quarrelling  with 
a  person  like  Desire — but  there  was  a  frigidity  in  the 
atmosphere  and  a  strainedness  in  the  relations  between  the 
two  women,  which  even  the  younger  of  the  two  could  not 
fail  to  perceive.  Nearly  a  year  had  elapsed  since  the 
breaking  of  Desire's  engagement  with  Edward  Gore,  but 
Lady  Quebell  had  neither  forgiven  or  forgotten  the  affair. 
It  had  outraged  her  sense  of  propriety,  it  had  greatly  upset 
her  arrangements,  and  it  left  Desire  still  on  hand.  The 
circumstances  had  never  been  explained  to  her,  they  had 
never  really  been  explained  to  Gore  or  to  any  one  else  except 
one  totally  insignificant  man,  who  had  since  dropped  out  of 
the  Quebell  circle.  Lady  Quebell  naturally  put  her  own 
interpretation  on  the  break  and  the  interpretation  was  not 
favourable  to  Desire — who  took  no  more  trouble  to  palliate 
the  blow  to  her  step-mother  than  she  had  to  soften  it  to  the 
victim,  seeing  which  one  cannot  say  that  the  lady's  feelings 
were  altogether  unreasonable. 

During  the  autumn  the  two  women  had  seen  little  of 
each  other,  they  had  as  much  as  possible  visited  separately  ; 
in  the  early  months  indeed  Desire  had  seen  few  of  her  own 
set,  spending  her  time  travelling  with  her  father.  When, 
after  Christmas,  she  came  to  town  again  the  affair  of  the 
engagement  was  largely  forgotten  by  a  people  who  were  too 

146 


DESIRE 

busy  amusing  themselves  to  remember  much.  Desire 
herself,  to  all  appearances,  had  forgotten  it  too,  at  all  events 
she  seemed  prepared  to  take  up  her  life  and  circumstances 
as  before.  Lady  Quebell  was  not  prepared  and  had  not 
forgotten,  and  through  the  winter  and  spring  the  position 
grew  more  and  more  strained.  Everything  Desire  did 
aggravated  it,  all  in  her  proceedings  which  in  the  past 
annoyed  her  step-mother  did  a  thousand  times  more  so  now, 
and  her  previously  condemned  faculty  for  becoming  absorbedly 
interested  in  people — principally  men — appeared  an  even 
more  heinous  thing  in  her  step-mother's  eyes,  though  she 
seldom  said  anything  about  it.  She  seldom  did  speak  plainly 
to  Desire  at  that  time  ;  it  was  not  till  Julian  Lee  came  to 
the  fore  that  she  gave  any  idea  of  the  nature  and  extent  of 
her  feelings. 

Julian  Lee  was  an  extremely  rich  and  quite  unattached 
American,  an  agreeable  person  in  every  way,  who  that 
spring  had  come  into  the  Quebell  circle.  He  had  interested 
Desire,  not  because  of  his  weath  or  eligibility,  but  in  spite 
of  them,  and  for  some  quality  or  originality  she  found  in  him. 
The  consequence  was  the  not  unprecedented  one  that  he 
fell  in  love  with  her  and  proposed  marriage.  This  in  itself, 
though  distressing,  did  not  matter  tremendously  ;  he  was 
what  Desire  called  a  sensible  person,  and  took  his  refusal 
well.  Apparently  he  had  not  much  expected  anything  else 
yet,  and,  though  he  announced  his  intention  of  waiting 
indefinitely  for  the  more  favourable  answer,  which  Desire 
did  not  encourage  him  to  expect,  he  did  not  let  the  incident 
make  any  difference  to  his  present  unembarrassing  friend- 
liness. But  unfortunately  Lady  Quebell  discovered  what  had 
occurred,  and  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  speak  to  Desire  on  the 
subject. 

She  spoke  very  plainly  indeed  and  after  having  denounced 


DESIRE 

Desire  and  her  doing — not  without  some  justice — in  the  old 
terms,  she  demanded  sharply  if  she  realized  her  age. 

"  You  do  ?  "  she  said,  when  Desire  readily  owned  to  her 
twenty-six  years.  "  Do  you  realize  that  your  chances  of 
a  satisfactory  settlement  in  life  are  diminishing  rapidly  ?  " 

"  Do  you  think  they  are  ? "  Desire  asked.  "  Well,  now, 
I  don't ;  I  don't  believe  there  ever  was  a  chance  of  my 
settling  satisfactorily.  I  can't  conceive  of  any  walk  in  life 
now  open  to  me  where  Satan  would  not  c  find  some  mischief 
still  for  my  hands  to  do.' " 

Lady  Quebell  did  not  mean  that.  "  I  meant,  make  a 
satisfactory  marriage,"  she  said,  "  and  you  know  I  did.  In 
your  circumstances  I  really  cannot  understand  your  present 
conduct ;  it  is  worse  than  folly." 

"  Is  it  ? "  Desire  said,  with  the  interest  of  one  discussing 
a  general  topic.  "  You  think  so  ?  I  expect  you  are 
right." 

"  Of  course  I  am,"  Lady  Quebell  said  shortly  ;  she  knew 
what  Desire's  easy  acquiescence  was  worth.  "Why  did  you 
refuse  that  man  ? "  she  asked  ;  "  you  like  him  personally,  he 
interests  and  amuses  you,  and,  what  is  of  more  importance, 
he  understands  you  and  would  not  expect  too  much.  He  is 
rich  enough  even  for  your  extravagance  ;  he  appears  to  have 
no  relations  whom  you  could  shock,  and  he  is  not  likely  to 
be  in  any  way  exacting.  I  can't  think  of  a  match  more 
suitable  to  you  in  every  way." 

And  she  proceeded  to  enlarge  on  the  suitability,  without, 
it  is  to  be  feared,  producing  much  effect,  although  Desire, 
with  justice,  agreed  with  most  of  what  she  said. 

"Are  you  going  to  reconsider  your  refusal?"  she  asked 
half  deceived  by  the  agreement. 
« I'm  afraid  not." 

"  Then  why  is  the  man  still  coming  here  ?  " 

148 


DESIRE 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  because  he  likes  to  ;  perhaps 
because  he  likes  me  and  I  like  him." 

"  Like  him  !  You  mean  because  you  like  men  dangling 
round  you  !  It  must  have  been  a  disappointment  to  you  " 
— she  spoke  spitefully  now — "  that  the  impossible  person, 
Grimstone,  with  whom  you  played  so  disastrously  last 
summer,  gave  you  up  so  completely  when  he  got  his 
congt." 

Desire  did  not  explain  that  the  man  in  question  had 
received  no  congl  and  courted  none.  She  never  felt  inclined 
to  discuss  Peter  Grimstone  in  the  pleasant  superficial  manner 
she  was  ready  to  speak  of  most  other  people  introduced  into 
conversation  by  her  step-mother.  In  some  way  he  stood  to 
her  for  a  thing  separate  and  apart,  a  ridiculous  thing,  perhaps, 
but  one  she  could  not  replace,  and  regretted  with  an 
intermittent  but  persistent  sense  of  loss. 

Lady  Quebell  knew  nothing  of  this,  but  she  felt  that  her 
remark  concerning  the  man  had  touched  somewhere,  and  she 
went  on  with  a  maliciousness  which  was  nearly  ill-bred. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  you  rather  expected  Edward  Gore 
to  return  to  you  after  a  time  r " 

Desire  was  aware  of  the  bad  manners  and  the  bad  feeling, 
and  together  they  rather  jarred  on  her.  "  No,"  she  said 
briefly,  "  I  expected  him  to  marry  some  one  else  ;  by  this 
time  no  doubt  he  is  married." 

"  He  is  nothing  of  the  kind.     Who  should  he  marry  ? " 

Desire  looked  up,  her  attention  arrested.  "  Are  you  sure 
he  is  not  married  ?  "  she  asked  quickly.  "  How  do  you 
know  r " 

"  I  heard  about  him  the  other  day  from  the  Russels,"  Lady 
Quebell  answered  j  "  he  is  certainly  not  married  j  he  has  not 
got  over  your  treatment  of  him." 

Desire  was  sure  he  must  have.     "  People  don't  break  their 

149 


DESIRE 

hearts  over  me,"  she  said  ;  "  he  did  not  really  care  much,  not 
that  way  anyhow." 

"  Oh,"  Lady  Quebell  retorted,  "  is  that  how  you  explain 
his  non-return  ? " 

But  the  shaft  missed,  for  Desire  was  thinking  of  something 
else  ;  what  it  was  soon  appeared.  "  I  shall  go  and  see  the 
Russels,"  she  announced,  "  and  ask  about  him " 

"  Ask  about  him  !  "  Lady  Quebell  exclaimed  ;  "  you 
can't  ! " 

"  Why  not  ?  They  can  tell  me  all  I  want  to  know."  That 
to  Desire  was  a  more  than  sufficient  reason. 

She  knew  pretty  well  what  Gore's  movements  had  been 
since  her  jilting  of  him  last  summer.  He  had  first  left 
London  for  some  considerable  time  ;  then,  when  work 
compelled  his  return,  he  had  applied  himself  to  it  with  an 
attention  which  banished  him  from  society  of  most  sorts,  and 
in  the  early  spring  ended  in  another  breakdown.  He  was 
not  very  strong  nervously.  For  that  reason,  if  for  no  other,  it 
was  perhaps  a  good  thing  he  was  not  tied  to  Desire,  whose 
too  exciting  personality  would  undoubtedly  have  worn  him 
him  even  more  than  the  work  it  would  have  stimulated  him 
to  do.  These  facts  Desire  knew  ;  the  thing  she  did  not 
know  was  what  had  happened  on  his  recovery,  whether  or 
no  he  was  yet  married  to  the  woman  of  the  grey  eyes — one 
who,  unlike  herself,  would  have  supplemented  and  soothed  him 
alike  in  struggle  and  success. 

But  she  very  soon  found  this  out,  at  all  events  all  that  was 
known  to  his  friends  the  Russels.  They,  whatever  their 
opinion  of  her  inquiries  and  the  motive  of  them,  gave  her 
the  information  she  wanted.  She  learnt  that  up  to  the 
present  they  at  least  believed  him  to  be  unmarried.  So  if 
any  ceremony  had  taken  place  they — and  presumably  other 
people — did  not  know  of  it.  If  it  existed  it  must  be  of  a 

150 


DESIRE 

private  nature,  which    was  surely  not   quite   what  justice 
demanded. 

There  was  a  smoulder  of  anger  in  Desire's  eyes  when 
she  went  up-stairs  after  her  visit  to  the  Russels.     Gore  had 
had  time  enough,  even  allowing  for  the  difference  between 
his  nature  and  her  own  headlong  one  ;  he  had  had  time  to 
get  over  the  blow  of  her  dealing  ;  he  had  lost  himself  in  work 
since,  been  ill  and  was  better,  and  he  had  not  yet  married 
the  woman.     He  was  a  little  afraid  to  take  the  step  doubtless  ; 
afraid  about  his  position,  perhaps.     Who  and  what  she  was 
before  marriage  might  not  leak  out,  possibly  never  would, 
but,  on  the  other  hand,  it  might.     Desire  realized  now,  as 
she  had  not  during  her  engagement,  that  he  set  store  by  these 
things — which  did  not  count  at  all  to  her — that,  whatever 
his  convictions,  he  had  a  tendency  to  rule  his  life  by  that 
thing  unrecognized  by  herself,  the  usual  standard.     He  was 
just  a  little  bit  of  a  coward ;  a  brilliantly  clever  man,  but  just 
a  little  lacking  in  physical  stamina,  moral  stamina  too,  perhaps 
— at  any  rate  lacking  the  fearless  robustness  with  which  she 
had  endowed  him  at  one  time,  probably  solely  because  she 
possessed   it  herself.     And  so  he  had  not  yet  married   this 
Edith.     And  she,  poor  soul,  had    doubtless    feared    to    put 
fortune  to  the  touch — she,  too,  lacked  the  headlong  decisive- 
ness.    What  she  must  have  suffered  during  these  months, 
this  woman  who,  in  spite  of  her  brave  words,  never  really 
lost  sight  of  the  world's  estimate  of  her  position  !     Desire,  in 
her  place,  would  not  have  given  a  thought  to  the  world,  but 
she  dimly  realized  that  this  other  one  did,  and  realized,  too, 
that  the  nervous  nature,  which  fears  to  miss  the  opportunity 
and  fears  to  take  it,  suffers  a  martyrdom  in  waiting,  watching, 
doubting  itself  and  others,  and  making  a  thousand  abortive 
starts  unknown  to    those    who    leap    without    looking  and 
usually  land  safe  on  the  other  side. 


DESIRE 

Desire  rang  the  bell.  Months  ago  now  she  had  almost 
forcibly  discarded  the  whole  affair,  she  had  compelled  her- 
self to  set  it  aside  as  something  which  could  not  be  bettered 
by  thinking,  and  she  had  come  instinctively  to  shrink  from 
thought  of  it.  But  now,  it  seemed,  she  had  got  to  reopen 
this  incident.  She  had,  it  seemed,  assumed  a  responsibility  of 
sorts,  when  she  played  the  part  she  did  ;  and  now  she  had  to 
see  it  through  to  the  end.  When  the  man  answered  her 
summons  she  told  him  to  call  her  a  cab. 

Soon  she  was  driving  away,  and  it  was  as  well  Lady 
Quebell  knew  nothing  about  it,  for  her  destination  was 
Gore's  chambers  in  the  Temple. 

No  doubt  it  was  some  one's  business  to  ask  a  visitor's 
errand  at  the  Temple  chambers,  or  at  least  his  name,  before 
he  was  permitted  to  penetrate  to  the  room  where  Gore  sat  at 
work.  But  this  did  not  befall  Desire.  When,  as  now,  her 
whole  mind  was  bent  on  her  object,  to  the  exclusion  of 
everything  else,  other  people  were  either,  quite  unconsciously, 
swept  aside  by  her,  or  swept  along  with  her,  or  too  surprised 
to  recollect  the  thing  they  normally  did  until  she  was 
gone.  So  it  happened  now,  and  she  passed  through  to  Gore 
unquestioned  and  unannounced.  When  he  looked  up  on 
the  opening  of  the  door  she  was  already  there,  a  completely 
surprising  and  scene-filling  presence. 

"I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,"  she  said,  without  any 
greeting  or  excuse ;  "  but  I  want  ten  minutes'  talk  with  you  ; 
can  I  have  it  ? " 

It  was  the  same  curiously  thrilling  voice,  the  same  oddly, 
frankly  intimate  manner  which  made  one  feel  as  if  one  had 
never  parted  from  her  ;  the  same  seductive  figure,  standing, 
glowing-haired,  in  a  shaft  of  sunlight.  Gore  recognized  it, 
as  he  recognized  the  irresistible,  all-pervadingness  of  her, 
with  a  sense  of  shock. 


DESIRE 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? "  he  said  formally,  placing  a 
chair  for  her  as  he  spoke. 

She  sat  down  without  noticing  the  stiffness  of  his  tone  or 
the  way  it  strove  to  indicate  disapproval  of  one  who,  having 
behaved  to  him  as  she  had,  came  to  him  on  any  pretext 
whatever. 

"It  is  about  your  marriage  I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she 
said  without  preamble.  "  You  are  not  married,  I  suppose  ? " 

She  flashed  a  searching  look  as  she  spoke,  and  there  was  a 
momentary  hope  in  her  eyes.  He  saw  it  in  some  astonish- 
ment, and  perhaps  he  is  not  to  be  blamed  for  misinterpret- 
ing it. 

"  No,"  he  said  briefly. 

She  nodded  as  if  it  was  what  she  expected.  She  did  not 
say  she  was  sorry,  but  Gore  could  not  help  perceiving  it ; 
and  he  was  at  once  nonplussed  and  irritated. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  you  took  so  much  interest  in  my 
affairs,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  "  I  suppose  not — "  she  broke  off  as 
if  uncertain,  then  went  on  again  :  "I  thought  you  would 
have  been  married  by  this  time  ;  I  expected  you  would." 

He  could  not  conceal  his  surprise  and  annoyance,  the 
annoyance  of  one  who  resents  an  unwarranted  intrusion. 

"  I  fear  I  do  not  understand  you  or  your  interest  in  me," 
he  said. 

"  No,"  she  answered ;  she  was  finding  it  embarrassing, 
though  not,  perhaps,  from  quite  the  causes  which  would  have 
embarrassed  most  women.  "  The  fact  is,  you  ought  to  be 
married,  you  know;  you  have  kept  her  waiting  a  long  time." 

Gore's  face  suddenly  froze.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  he 
demanded. 

Desire  looked  away  ;  she  was  intensely  sorry  for  him,  so 
sorry  that  she  felt  it  was  impossible  she  could  ever  have  been 

153 


DESIRE 

anything  else.  "  I  know  about  it,"  she  said,  with  the  awk- 
ward shamefacedness  of  one  who  is  herself  discovered  in 
what  is  discreditable ;  "  I  knew  before  you  came  back.  I 
chanced  upon  it  by  accident,  and  then  went  into  it  and 
found  out  everything,  and  made  her  promise  not  to  tell  you. 
You  must  not  blame  her  for  not  telling  you.  I  made  her 
promise.  I  thought  we  could  manage  without  a  scene.  I 
hate  a  scene." 

"You  knew?"  He  repeated  the  words  in  a  stupefied 
fashion. 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  with  what  you  are  charging 
me  ? "  he  said.  "  Perhaps  also  you  will  tell  me  why,  if  you 
consider  you  had  reason  for  breaking  off  our  engagement, 
you  did  not  tell  me  of  it  at  the  time,  and  give  me  an 
opportunity  of  explanation,  or,  at  least,  confession  ? " 

"  Because  I  hate  a  scene,"  Desire  answered  ;  she,  too, 
had  recovered,  and  spoke  easily  now  as  one  dealing  with 
impersonal  topics.  "  Besides,  really  it  would  have  done  no 
good  ;  there  was  that  woman,  Edith,  there  was  you,  and  I, 
the  three  of  us  ;  we  couldn't  make  ourselves  into  two,  could 
we  ? " 

The  thing  was  literally  sprung  upon  Gore,  at  a  time,  too, 
when  it  would  have  seemed  madness  to  dream  of  it.  It  was 
not  wonderful  that  he  was  completely  taken  aback  and 
mentally  disorganized.  Desire's  method  of  doing  it,  too,  and 
her  very  manner,  giving  no  clue  to  her  motives  and  emotions, 
was  further  calculated  to  produce  disorder  in  the  mind  of 
a  highly  strung  person. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,"  he  said,  "  that  you  knew  of  and 
resented  my — my — er — connection  with " 

"  Not  resented  it,"  Desire  said  quickly,  coming  to  his 
rescue ;  "  it  wasn't  exactly  any  business  of  mine  to  resent. 
She  had  first  claim  on  you,  it  was  for  her  to  resent." 

154 


DESIRE 

"  I   don't   understand,"    he   said    helplessly.   "  You  don't 

resent — you What  is  it  then  ?     You  think  I  should 

have  told  you  ?  " 

"Good  Lord  !     What  difference  would  that  have  made?" 

He  looked  at  her  bewildered  for  a  second,  utterly  at  a 
loss  to  understand  her  attitude.  He  rose  and  went  to  the 
window  ;  to  him  it  was  impossible  they  should  discuss  such 
things  facing  one  another  across  the  writing-table.  He  was 
also  both  embarrassed  and  ashamed. 

"  I  know  I  did  wrong,"  he  confessed  with  his  back  turned. 
"  I  was  a  cad,  I  know  it ;  I  hadn't  the  courage  quite  to 
break  with  her  even  after  I  knew  you,  she — she  was  a  great 
comfort — besides,  she  cared — but  I  did  break,  you  know — I 
would  have  if  we  had " 

"  I  know."  Desire  spoke  rather  breathlessly,  with  a 
quickness  begotten  of  a  desire  to  prevent  him  from  uncon- 
sciously making  further  rents  in  the  character  with  which 
she  had  endowed  him.  "  I  know  just  what  happened,  I  can 
understand.  People  have  cared  for  me  like  that  before.  It's 
my  fault,  there's  something  queer  about  me.  I  can  quite 
see  how  it  was  that  you  really  cared  for  her  all  the  time,  and 
just  got  momentarily  fascinated  by  me." 

He  turned  sharply.  "  You  think,"  he  said,  "  that  I  cared 
more  for  her  than  for  you  ? " 

Desire  straightened  suddenly  and  the  pity  left  her  eyes. 
"  If  I  did  not  think  it,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  thrilled  with 
anger,  "  if  I  did  not  know  it,  I  should  move  heaven  and  earth 
to  prevent  you  marrying  her  or  marrying  any  other  decent 
woman." 

She  rose  in  her  turn  and  went  and  stood  with  her  back  to 
the  mantelpiece.  "  Look  here,"  she  said,  and  though  she 
spoke  pleasantly  and  easily  again,  she  had  lost  the  manner  of 
the  one  who  pleads,  "  we  understand  all  about  it,  there  isn't 

155 


DESIRE 

any  need  to  go  into  how  it  happened  or  why  it  happened 
and  all  that,  it's  all  quite  simple  and  straightforward  and  no 
real  harm  done  ;  you  and  I  found  out  our  mistake  and  you 
and  she  will  marry." 

A  light  at  last  broke  on  Gore,  the  object  of  the  visit  was 
at  last  explained.  It  was,  then,  to  bring  about  his  marriage 
with  Edith,  the  other  woman.  He  found  it  a  very  surprising 
reason. 

<c  Of  course,"  Desire  went  on,  turning  to  the  mantelpiece 
as  she  did  so,  "  marriage  means  a  good  deal  to  her.  I  don't 
suppose  I  should  bother  in  her  place,  though  there's  the  child, 
that  might  make  a  difference — but  she's  a  proper  kind  of 
woman,  a  good  woman,  a  real,  true,  good  woman,  just  the 

wife  for  you,  though "  and  she  looked  round  and  spoke 

half  jestingly,  her  mercurial  temperament  rising,  "she's 
rather  too  good  for  you,  my  friend." 

Gore  was  essentially  a  person  of  codes  and  traditions.  Right 
and  wrong,  moral  and  immoral,  were  things  of  accumulated 
precedent,  not  private  notions  to  be  arrived  at  by  individual 
thinking.  He  may  therefore  be  excused  for  not  understand- 
ing Desire,  even,  perhaps,  for  being  a  little  shocked  by  her. 

"Am  I  to  understand,"  he  said,  "that  the  object  of  this 
visit  is  to  point  out  to  me  what  you  consider  my  duty  ? " 

The  light  died  out  of  Desire's  eyes  and  her  lips  drooped, 
but  she  did  not  deny  it,  and  irritation  arose  in  his  overstrung 
nerves. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  I  am  obliged  to  you,  but  I  assure 
you  I  am  able  both  to  see  my  duty  and  to  do  it." 

"  Oh,  Teddy  !  "  she  cried,  almost  wailed  ;  "  oh,  Teddy, 
don't  !  "  For  a  moment  she  hid  her  face — he  might  have 
left  her  something,  some  shadow  of  her  old  estimate  ! 

He  stared  in  blank  astonishment.  "  What  am  I  to  under- 
stand, then  ?  "  he  asked. 

156 


DESIRE 

"  Understand  anything  you  like  !  "  She  flashed  round  on 
him  in  sudden  anger.  "  You  can  never  understand  the 
facts,  it  seems  !  Your  duty  !  Why,  man,  it  is  your 
fortune,  your  happiness,  your  high  honour  to  win  for  your 
life  companion  the  best  woman  you  have  met !  To  give 
the  gift  she  wants  to  her — one  who  has  stood  by  you  in  bad 
times,  waited  your  good  pleasure  in  good — who  is  worth  a 
thousand  of  you  !  " 

She  went  to  the  door.  "  But,  of  course,  you  were  going 
to  marry  her  all  along,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  drop  to 
conventional  tones — "  I  know  that.  But  if  I  were  you  I 
should  let  it  be  soon,  the  facts  are  so  likely  to  become  known. 
Things  do  leak  out  so,  don't  they  ?  I  shouldn't  be  a 
bit  surprised  if  these  did " 

Her  eyes  met  his  for  a  moment  with  an  uncompromising 
directness.  He  could  not  mistake  the  threat,  and  his  pale  face 
crimsoned.  But  she  went  out  looking  neither  to  right  nor 
left,  nor  able  to  meet  any  one's  glance  for  very  shame,  and 
scarcely  seeing  the  door  for  a  mist  of  tears. 


CHAPTER   XI 

IT  was  in  early  June  that  Sir  Joseph  Quebell  died,  so 
suddenly  as  to  be  inconvenient  to  those  whose  business  is 
the  writing  of  obituary  notices.  The  suddenness  of  Sir 
Joseph's  death  was  inconvenient  to  others  besides  newspaper 
men,  indeed  it  left  what  his  lawyer  characterized  as  "  a  very 
much  to  be  regretted  state  of  affairs."  Sir  Joseph  was  the 
sort  of  man  whose  affairs  are  expected  to  be  in  the  most 
perfect  order,  and  the  main  block  of  his  personality  justified 
such  expectations,  but  there  were  a  few  curious  stars  and 
flaws  in  his  character.  It  was  one  such,  of  course,  which  had 
brought  Desire  into  existence.  The  condition  of  his  affairs 
was  exactly  on  a  level  with  his  character.  In  the  main 
they  were  in  good  order,  everything  touching  his  official 
capacity  perfect  ;  but  in  his  private  matters  there  was 
one  glaring  lack  ;  it  was  this  which  really  made  the  lawyer 
speak  of  the  suddenness  of  his  death  as  so  much  to  be 
regretted. 

Desire  mourned  her  father's  death  with  a  depth  of  affection 
and  reality  which  might  have  surprised  some,  seeing  the 
semi-detached  nature  of  the  family  life  and  feelings.  She 
was  grieved  for  the  loss  to  the  world  of  a  very  clever  man 
still  in  his  prime,  and  for  the  loss  to  herself  of  an  indulgent 
parent  whom  she  sincerely  liked.  But  there  was  more  in  it 
to  her  than  that,  for  Sir  Joseph's  death  occurred  within  a 
week  of  her  visit  to  Gore,  at  a  time  when  she  was  scarcely 
ready  for  another  blow.  She  felt  somehow  as  if  she  were 

158 


DESIRE 

losing  things  rather  fast,  as  if  the  pillars  which  propped  her 
pleasant  house  of  life  were  being  shaken,  and  as  if  her  agree- 
able world-fabric — which  her  innermost  self  realized  was 
only  a  woven  dream  fabric — was  in  danger  of  being  pulled 
down,  and  leaving  her  face  to  face  with  unknown  real  things 
outside. 

To  Lady  Quebell  her  husband's  death  came  as  a  shock  ; 
she  was  very  sincerely  shocked  by  the  ill-timed  intrusion  of 
death  into  her  crowded  engagements.  Concerning  her 
personal  feelings  it  was  impossible  to  judge ;  so  far  as  any 
one  could  perceive  she  had  none  to  speak  of  except  dislike 
for  Desire,  and  that,  one  might  almost  say,  had  become 
the  single  paramount  emotion  of  her  life.  How  strong  it 
was  Desire  had  an  opportunity  of  judging  soon  after  her 
father's  death. 

The  funeral  was  over,  the  time  in  which  convention 
demanded  that  the  widow  and  daughter  should  not  be 
troubled  with  mundane  considerations — other  than  millinery 
— was  fulfilled.  Mr.  Whitehead,  Sir  Joseph's  solicitor,  had 
an  interview  with  Lady  Quebell.  What  transpired  Desire 
did  not  know — she  was  not  told  and  she  did  not  ask.  The 
next  day  he  had  another  interview  with  Lady  Quebell  and 
afterwards  sought  one  with  Desire.  She  was  always  easily 
accessible  and  she  readily  received  him  in  her  boudoir.  He 
came  to  her,  a  polite,  formal  person,  so  formal  that  Desire 
quickly  perceived  that  the  interview  with  Lady  Quebell 
had  been  unpleasant  and  had  left  unpleasant  things  to  be 
said  or  done  or  thought.  Consequently  she  strove  to  make 
it  up  to  him,  and  to  make  him  welcome  in  her  genial 
way. 

But  he  would  not  be  made  welcome,  would  not  smoke 
her  cigarettes  or  allow  her  or  himself  to  forget  that  he  was 
come  on  business  solely.  It  was  as  if  he  felt  that  to  do  so 

159 


DESIRE 

would  only  make  this  unpleasant  task  yet  more  unpleasant 
still. 

"  I  must  trouble  you  with  a  few  words  about  your 
father's  affairs,"  he  said  stiffly. 

"  They  are  in  a  muddle  ?  "  she  suggested.  c<  That's  not  very 
surprising ;  the  dear  old  man,  for  all  his  wonderful  ability, 
had  some  weaknesses — that's  why  one  could  love  him,  I 
expect." 

The  lawyer  bowed,  then  made  his  first  statement  with 
brevity.  "  He  made  no  will  subsequent  to  his  marriage  with 
Lady  Quebell,"  he  said. 

"  Indeed  ? " 

She  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly ;  they  were  finely 
pencilled  brows,  dark-coloured,  like  the  long  lashes  which 
gave  part  of  their  charm  to  her  glowing  eyes.  The  lawyer 
observed  them,  though  he  was  chiefly  interested  in  the  fact 
that  she  showed  no  other  sign  of  surprise,  no  sign  at  all  of 
consternation.  Plainly,  he  thought,  she  did  not  understand 
what  his  news  entailed. 

"  There  is  a  will  made  prior  to  the  marriage,"  he  explained, 
"  by  which  you  are  amply  provided  for.  But  the  marriage, 
I  must  tell  you,  cancels  that  j  it  cancels  any  previous  testa- 
mentary document  j  the  estate  of  a  deceased  person  who  has 
made  no  will  subsequent  to  marriage  is  administered  precisely 
as  if  he  had  died  intestate." 

"  I  see,"  Desire  said. 

But  he  was  not  at  all  sure  that  she  did  really  see. 
"  Under  these  circumstances,"  he  went  on,  "  you  are  very 
unpleasantly  situated.  You  are  not  now  legally  entitled  to  the 
sum  your  father  originally  bequeathed  to  you.  Indeed,  you 
are — your  position " 

He  hesitated,  and  she  came  to  his  rescue,  and  also  at  the 
same  time  cleared  up  any  doubts  he  had  as  to  the  under- 

160 


DESIRE 

standing  of  the  situation.  "  As  I  am  illegitimate,"  she  said, 
"  I  am  in  the  present  circumstances  entitled  to  nothing.  Is 
that  it  ?  How  tiresome,  isn't  it  ? " 

"The  bulk  of  the  property  goes  to  Lady  Quebell,"  Mr. 
Whitehead  said.  "  There  is  very  little  real  estate,  land  and  so 
on  ;  what  there  is  goes  to  the  male  heir-at-law,  a  poor  man  ; 
but,  as  I  say,  it  amounts  almost  to  nothing,  Lady  Quebell 
practically  takes  everything." 

Desire  nodded.  "  She'll  be  really  very  comfortably  off," 
she  said  in  a  conversational  tone,  which  once  again  made  the 
lawyer  doubt  her  ability  to  understand  the  situation. 

"  I  have  been  urging  on  her  the  necessity  of  making  some 
suitable  provision  for  you,"  he  went  on  ;  "some  separate 
provision  such  as  it  is  evident,  from  Sir  Joseph's  early 
will,  he  wished  and  intended." 

The  red-brown  eyes  shot  a  swift,  keen  look,  which  was 
gone  again  before  Desire  asked  quite  lightly — "  And  she 
won't  ?  " 

«  No." 

The  lawyer  cleared  his  throat.  "  Of  course,"  he  observed, 
"I  do  not  know  anything  of  a  difference  between  you." 

"  A  difference  ?  "  Desire  smiled.  "  A  hundred  !  Bless 
you,  it  was  all  difference  nearly — didn't  she  tell  you  so  ? " 

"  No."  His  tone  was  very  grave.  "  But  I  advise  you,  for 
your  own  sake,  to  try  and  sink  those  differences.  Believe 
me  " — there  was  meaning  in  the  gravity  now — "  it  is  most 
advisable,  most  necessary  that  you  do  your  best  to  sink  those 
differences." 

Desire  stretched  out  her  hand  and  took  a  cigarette.  It 
was  a  large,  strong,  well-shaped  hand,  and  the  lawyer  found 
himself  looking  at  it  and  at  her  as  she  watched  the  match 
flame  with  which  she  lighted  the  cigarette.  The  flame 
did  not  waver  at  all.  Neither  spoke  till  she  threw  the 
ii  161 


DESIRE 

match  away,  then  she  said — "  D'ye  know,  I  believe  there 
are  two  differences  people  can't  sink — a  difference  in  their 
sense  of  humour  and  in  their  sense  of  decency — propriety, 
whatever  you  call  it." 

She  rose  and  stood  with  her  back  to  the  mantelpiece, 
and  the  lawyer,  who  before  had  been  aware  of  her 
alluring  femininity,  was  suddenly  struck  with  something 
curiously  masculine  in  her. 

"  It's  awfully  good  of  you  to  come  and  tell  me  about 
this,"  she  said.  "  I  am  no  end  obliged  to  you.  I  am  afraid 
it  has  worried  you  quite  a  good  deal — more  than  it  does  me, 
I  have  no  doubt ;  things  don't  worry  me,  you  know  j  I 
always  come  through  somehow  right  side  up.  I  have  no 
doubt  I  shall  this  time.  Must  you  go  ? "  He  had  risen 
when  she  did.  "  Won't  you  have  anything,  whisky,  tea, 
something  ?  Do  !  " 

He  would  not,  and  as  it  was  clear  she  did  not  intend  to 
discuss  the  matter  further  now  he  shortly  took  his  leave, 
wondering  much  what  she  really  thought  and  what  she 
would  do. 

What  she  did  was  to  stand  where  she  was  and  smoke  her 
cigarette  out  slowly,  and  without  moving  at  all.  When  it 
was  done  she  threw  the  end  away  with  a  curious  little  shrug, 
and  the  only  definite  thought  which  accompanied  the  shrug 
was — "  What  a  mercy  I  saw  after  that  affair  of  the  Edith 
woman  when  I  did  ! "  Then  she  went  down-stairs  to  Lady 
Quebell. 

Lady  Quebell  was  seated  at  an  open  secretaire  writing, 
she  glanced  round  as  Desire  entered  but  did  not  speak. 

Desire  shut  the  door,  and  sitting  down  in  an  easy-chair 
propped  her  head  against  a  cushion  comfortably. 

a  Mr.  Whitehead  has  been  talking  to  me,"  she  said. 

«  Oh  !  " 

162 


DESIRE 

Lady  Quebell  did  not  leave  off  her  writing  to  give  the 
answer ;  Desire  watched  her  a  moment,  turning  her  eyes  but 
not  her  head. 

"  Wasn't  it  rather  an  unnecessary  formality  to  make  him 
the  bringer  of  the  news  ? "  she  asked.  "  He  found  it  so 
unpleasant — didn't  like  it  at  all." 

Lady  Quebell  re-read  the  last  sentence  of  her  letter.  "  It 
was  necessary  you  should  be  told  the  state  of  affairs,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  Desire  agreed.  Lady  Quebell  returned 
to  her  writing,  and  Desire  watched  her ;  under  the  watch 
the  pen  moved  more  and  more  slowly  and  with  more 
frequent  pauses  for  erasion. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  Desire  asked  at  last. 

"Leave  London  as  soon  as  possible.  After  all  that  has 
occurred  I  feel  the  need  of  rest  and  retirement  at  first,  and 
afterwards  change.  I  don't  suppose  I  shall  come  back  to 
town  till  well  on  in  next  year,  but  my  plans  are  very 
unsettled." 

Desire  acquiesced  and  again  dropped  into  silence.  The 
writing,  which  had  ceased  for  the  answer  to  be  given,  was 
resumed  and  progressed  much  as  before  until  she  interrupted 
by  asking — 

"  And  I  ?     What  do  you  advise  that  I  do  ? " 

"  I  do  not  advise,"  Lady  Quebell  answered  coldly  ;  "  you 
are  at  liberty  to  go  or  to  remain  here  if  you  choose,  until 
I  give  the  house  up,  which,  of  course,  I  shall  do  so  soon  as 
it  can  be  arranged." 

"  Yes.     And  afterwards  ? " 

"  Afterwards  you  will  please  yourself." 

"  Don't  I  always  do  that  ? "  Desire  interpolated.  "  I 
think  I  remember  to  have  heard  you  say  so." 

Lady  Quebell  compressed  her  lips.  "  In  the  future  you 
will  be  able  to  do  so  quite  uncriticized  by  me." 

163 


DESIRE 

"  Thank  you."  Desire  turned  a  little  in  her  chair  so  as 
more  directly  to  face  the  writing-table.  "  I  am  afraid  I  am 
a  very  stupid  person,"  she  said,  "  but  I  really  never  can 
understand  what  is  meant  unless  it  is  put  plainly  ;  won't 
you  tell  me  in  so  many  words  what  you  propose  to  do  ? " 

"  About  you  ? "  Lady  Quebell  was  driven  into  saying. 
"  I  do  not  see  that  I  or  any  one  else  is  in  a  position  to  do 
anything — you  have  always  chosen  to  follow  your  own 
course.  You  have  had  every  chance — education,  surround- 
ings, introductions,  opportunities  of  the  best  sort,  and — 
forgive  me— quite  other  than  those  to  which  you  have  an 
actual  claim.  If  you  have  chosen  to  do  nothing  with  them 
and  make  nothing  of  them  I  do  not  feel  that  I,  or  any  one 
but  yourself,  is  to  blame.  Nor  do  I  feel  called  upon  to 
provide  you  with  further  opportunities,  which  you,  if  you 
had  them,  would,  no  doubt,  treat  in  a  precisely  similar  way." 

She  paused,  and  Desire  politely  asked  her  to  go  on. 
"  Won't  you  tell  me  what  you  do  intend  to  do  ? "  she  said. 
"  That  is  what  you  don't,  please  tell  me  what  you  do." 

"  Nothing,"  Lady  Quebell  answered  sharply,  a  faint 
colour  mounting  under  her  skin  as  she  spoke ;  she  lacked 
the  courage  to  enjoy  the  doing  of  what  both  in  thought  and 
retrospect  she  thoroughly  enjoyed.  "  You  have  no  claim  on 
me,"  she  said,  her  voice  rising  a  little  with  annoyance  at  the 
way  she  had  been  forced  into  the  answer.  "  I  am  not 
compelled  to  do  anything,  and,  as  I  say,  your  past  conduct 
is  not  of  the  sort  to  incline  me  to  give  you  a  further  chance 
of  wasting  opportunities." 

"  Thank  you,"  Desire  said  j  "  now  I  understand." 

She  rose,  and  Lady  Quebell  turned  round  with  the 
cautious  inclination  of  persons  of  her  sort,  to  palliate  in 
words  what  they  have  no  thought  of  softening  in  action. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  I  have  no  wish  to  inconvenience 

164 


DESIRE 

you,  you  can  remain  here  a  month  or  two  if  you  find  it 
necessary.  Indeed,  I  should  rather  advise  you  to  do  so ;  it 
will  give  you  some  chance  of  arranging  something,  of  seeing 
your  friends,  and  so  on.  Mr.  Lee  called  to-day " 

"  Thanks  so  much,"  Desire  interrupted ;  "  I  quite 
understand." 

"  And  are  quite  determined  not  to  be  advised,"  Lady 
Quebell  said  shortly.  "  You  must  please  yourself,  fortun- 
ately I  am  not  concerned  with  your  marrying  or  not 
marrying.  You  are  entirely  your  own  mistress  now  ;  I  do 
not  pretend  to  have  even  a  nominal  interest  in  your 
proceedings." 

Desire  nodded.  "  Thanks  for  explaining,"  she  said ; 
"  so  much  better  to  speak  plainly  about  things,  isn't  it  ? 
We  know  where  we  are  then." 

And  undoubtedly  Lady  Quebell  did  feel  that  she  knew 
where  she  was.  She  did  not  know  where  Desire  was  nor 
what  she  would  do  ;  but  she  felt  that  did  not  matter,  she 
was  about  to  be  quit  of  that  irritating  surprise  for  good  and 
all.  She  was  a  woman  of  very  little  imagination,  and 
seldom  realized  more  than  her  own  immediate  concern  in  an 
affair,  and  only  a  limited  part  of  that.  In  this  she  realized 
scarcely  anything  besides  her  own  interest  ;  what  became  of 
Desire  bulked  little  if  any  more  in  her  mind  than  did  what 
might  become  of  a  servant  she  dismissed  for  incompetency. 
The  opportunity  had  come  to  be  rid  of  an  unsatisfactory,  a 
more  than  unpleasing  person,  she  had  availed  herself  of  it  as 
it  was  within  her  right  as  well  as  her  power  to  do.  The 
very  real  personal  dislike  she  had  for  the  individual  made  her 
quite  impervious  to  anything  the  lawyer  or  another  might 
urge  in  favour  of  generosity.  The  dead  man's  daughter 
could  claim  nothing  and  she  would  have  nothing  but  her 
personal  effects. 

165 


DESIRE 

And  the  daughter  realized  it  perfectly  as  she  went  up-stairs  ; 
she  had  had  more  than  a  suspicion  when  she  went  down, 
but  now  she  realized  it  plainly.  And  the  strongest  feeling 
in  her  was  a  sense  of  shame — for  herself,  curiously  enough, 
as  well  as  for  the  older  woman.  Her  uppermost  instinct — 
and  it  was  a  most  rare  one  with  her — was  to  pretend,  even 
to  herself,  that  it  was  all  quite  right.  She  would  not  for  the 
world  have  admitted  that  there  was  anything  amiss  with 
Lady  Quebell's  attitude  or  conduct.  It  hurt  something  in 
her  to  find  another  woman  behaving  so,  to  find  this  standard 
of  conduct  among  her  own  people  ;  it  hurt  her  joyous 
estimate  of  humanity  and  other  things — so  much  so  that  she 
was  too  great  a  coward  to  face  it.  It  was  a  shock,  too,  to 
find  she  was  so  disliked.  She,  so  she  would  have  reasoned, 
no  doubt  deserved  dislike,  only  she  herself  did  not  dislike 
thus,  and  under  no  circumstances  would  ever  have  acted 
thus.  The  revelation  of  this  thing  in  her  own  immediate 
surroundings,  in  the  person  of  her  entirely  cool  and  well-bred 
step-mother  was  rather  stunning  to  her.  She  carried  up  to 
her  room  a  sense  of  loss  and  shame  ;  but  the  loss  was  more 
of  agreeable  illusions  than  of  property  and  income  ;  and  the 
shame  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  her  own  birth  and 
position  but  entirely  with  the  discovery  of  a  code  of  honour 
which  did  not  at  all  jump  with  her  previous  ideas.  No  one 
must  know  it,  that  was  her  predominant  feeling,  curious, 
perhaps,  for  one  who  before  had  troubled  so  little,  known 
so  little  even,  about  public  opinion.  None  of  her  friends  or 
acquaintances  must  know  it  ;  she  could  not  stand  the  thought 
of  its  being  canvassed  and  discussed,  kindly  or  unkindly,  the 
hurt  was  too  near  and  personal,  she  would  always  be  ashamed 
for  it  to  be  dragged  into  the  light  of  day.  And  her  secondary 
feeling — it  arose  probably  out  of  the  first — was  that  she  must 
end  well.  She  could  at  least  do  that,  she  would  leave  a  gay 

1 66 


DESIRE 

impression  behind  and  not  add  one  to  the  world's  objects  of 
pity.  With  the  child's  instinct  to  hide  her  hurt  she  also  had 
the  brave  braggart's  instinct  for  a  good  retreat.  No  one 
should  know  anything,  not  her  step-mother,  not  even  herself. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  in  the  days  which  followed  she 
was  in  the  cheerfullest  mood ;  she  and  Lady  Quebell 
continued  on  terms  as  polite  as  could  be  desired,  almost 
more  polite,  perhaps,  than  the  older  lady  liked.  Practically 
nothing  more  was  said  on  either  side  about  the  end  which 
was  approaching.  It  is  doubtful  if  Lady  Quebell  wished  to 
re-open  the  subject,  but  even  if  she  did  she  had  no  opportunity 
for  doing  so.  She  was,  of  course,  well  occupied  with  her  own 
concerns  during  these  days ;  she  had  a  business-like  mind  in 
small  matters  and  reduced  her  affairs  to  wonderful  order, 
settling  details  down  to  the  proportion  of  wages  due  to  a 
discharged  kitchen-maid.  Desire  did  not,  to  her  step- 
mother's knowledge,  make  any  arrangements  at  all,  or  do 
anything  different  from  usual,  except  attend  when  requested 
to  receive  what  of  her  books  and  properties  were  collected 
when  an  inventory  was  made  of  the  contents  of  the  house. 
She  smoked  a  good  deal,  more  than  was  wholesome  though 
it  was  not  likely  to  affect  one  of  her  strong  constitution 
much  ;  and  she  did  not  sleep  very  much,  though  that  again 
produced  little  visible  effect  on  her,  nature  having  given  her 
an  outside  well  calculated  to  stand  such  liberties. 

At  length  the  last  day  of  Lady  Quebell's  present 
residence  in  town  came  :  the  last  of  her  affairs  was  disposed 
of,  the  last  of  her  things  packed.  The  two  women  met 
at  breakfast  for  the  last  time,  Lady  Quebell  exactly 
punctual,  Desire  late,  but  bringing  with  her  into  the: 
room  when  she  did  come,  a  pleasant  gust  of  gaiety  rare 
at  morning  meals.  A  few  remarks  were  made  about  Lady 
Quebell's  journey,  the  chances  of  the  train  keeping  time, 

167 


DESIRE 

and  her  catching  a  connection  at  a  junction,  but  nothing 
whatever  to  indicate  that  her  going  was  different  from  an 
ordinary  going.  Desire  was  very  pleasant  and  bright  with 
just  that  small  touch  of  eagerness  in  her  manner  which  she 
would  have  shown  to  one  who  was  in  an  awkward  position 
and  who  she  wanted  to  set  at  ease  and  persuade  that  the 
awkwardness  was  not  observed.  That  was  rather  how  she 
did  feel  towards  her  step-mother  ;  seeing  how  the  elder 
woman's  action  impressed  her,  she  almost  unconsciously 
assumed  that  it  must  embarrass  and  humiliate  its  perpetrator 
even  more.  In  Desire's  parlance,  "  to  do  a  rotten  thing 
made  one  feel  such  a  bounder — and  so  badly  dressed  " — and 
as  she  always  did  her  best  to  set  at  ease  those  who  were 
badly  dressed,  and  to  hide  the  deficiencies  of  those  who  were 
not  equal  to  their  company,  she  now  strove  to  show  her 
step-mother  that  her  deficiencies  were  concealed.  And  Lady 
Quebell,  though  she  did  not  in  the  least  comprehend  the 
attitude,  and  never  could  have  comprehended  the  feeling 
which  prompted  it,  had  to  submit  to  the  power  of  the 
stronger  and  warmer  personality. 

At  last  the  hour  of  final  departure  came,  Lady  Quebell, 
dressed  for  her  journey,  came  down-stairs.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs  she  turned,  her  suspicious  eyes  looking  for 
Desire. 

"  Do  you  know  where  Miss  Quebell  is  ?  "  she  began  to 
ask  the  butler. 

But  Desire  herself  was  there  before  the  question  was  fairly 
put. 

"  What !  going  already  ? "  she  said.  "  You  will  have  plenty 
of  time.  Thomas  is  rather  early,  I  think.  I  hope  you'll 
have  a  lovely  time  and  get  really  rested  and  set  up." 

"Thank  you,"  Lady  Quebell  said  coldly,  then  added, 
"  Parker  is  in  charge  here  until  September  ;  most  of  the 

168 


DESIRE 

servants  will  be  leaving  at  the  end  of  the  week,  but  he  stays 
on  and  will  no  doubt  do  what  he  can  to  make  you  comfort- 
able while  you  stay." 

"  Thanks,"  Desire  answered  ;  "  I  didn't  think  of  staying 
after  to-morrow." 

Lady  Quebell  raised  her  eyebrows  slightly,  it  was  the  first 
she  had  heard  of  any  of  Desire's  future  movements. 

"  Good-bye,"  Desire  said.  "  Parker,  I  believe  it  would  be 
better  if  you  put  the  dressing-bag  on  the  opposite  seat." 

"  Thank  you,"  Lady  Quebell  returned ;  "  it  is  quite 
satisfactory  as  it  is.  Good-bye  ;  I  suppose  I  shall  not  see 
you  again  ? " 

The  vindictive  spark  showed  for  a  moment  in  her  eyes  as 
she  leaned  forward  to  the  window  to  say  this,  but  Desire 
answered  lightly — "  Oh,  I  don't  know,  it's  a  small  world, 
you  know  ;  we  are  sure  to  run  up  against  one  another  some 
time." 

Then  the  carriage  drove  away. 

When  the  hall  door  was  shut  Desire  stopped  a  moment 
to  speak  to  the  butler. 

"  I  am  expecting  some  people  to-night,  Parker,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  About  twenty  or  thirty." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

The  number  was  rather  surprising  seeing  the  deep 
mourning  of  the  family  and  the  departure  of  the  mistress  of 
the  house,  but  the  doings  of  Desire  were  always  incalculable, 
and  had  long  ceased  much  to  surprise  the  servants.  Parker 
was  not  even  surprised  that  she  had  not  mentioned  the  fact 
before  and  left  him  now  to  make  what  arrangements  he  could. 
She  had  probably  forgotten,  he  thought. 

She  had  not,  but  she  had  not  chosen  to  mention  it  before, 
for  though  she  had  asked  her  step-mother's  permission  to 

169 


DESIRE 

receive  people  at  the  house  while  she  remained  there,  she 
had  not  explained  that  she  contemplated  receiving  them  all 
at  once.  She  had  all  along  intended  to  do  it ;  some  days 
ago  now  she  had  written  notes  to  certain  of  her  friends  and 
acquaintances,  the  people  she  liked,  who  interested  or 
amused  her,  and  asked  them  to  come  and  see  her  on  that 
evening. 

"  I  am  in  mourning,  I  know,"  she  wrote,  "  but  that  is  no 
reason  why  I  should  be  shut  up  in  solitary  woe." 

And  most  of  them  came. 

A  somewhat  mixed  assemblage  they  were  that  were 
collected  for  the  last  time  in  the  big  drawing-room.  They 
did  not  know  it  was  the  last  time ;  the  invitations  did  not 
say  so,  and  there  was  nothing  whatever  in  the  entertainment 
to  indicate  it.  Desire  herself  was  as  usual,  even  more 
brilliant  perhaps.  She  certainly  looked  very  well  in  the 
eyes  of  at  least  some  present,  in  her  mourning  gown,  and 
the  long  string  of  pearls  she  wore,  in  defiance  of  the 
convention  for  bereaved  daughters,  became  her  marvellously. 

Lee,  the  man  who  Lady  Quebell  had  mentioned  as  a 
possible  solution  of  the  problem  of  how  to  live  without  an 
income,  was  among  those  that  thought  thus.  He  had  been 
invited  with  the  rest ;  Desire,  however  much  she  might 
dislike  her  step-mother's  insinuation  concerning  him,  would 
not  let  it  prevent  her  from  including  him  in  the  company 
which  assembled  at  her  invitation  that  night.  She  did  not 
bestow  any  large  share  of  her  favours  on  him,  it  is  true ;  he 
had  no  more  of  her  society  than  any  one  else.  She  divided 
her  favours  that  evening  as  never  before,  singling  each  out 
in  turn,  giving  him  such  undivided  attention  for  the  time 
being,  that  the  few  minutes  were  cut  sharp  and  distinct  as 
a  cameo  on  his  mind  and  hers ;  but  she  was  always  careful 
that  none  should  have  so  much  as  to  cut  short  the  rest. 

170 


DESIRE 

Either  because  of  this  or  because  of  some  spirit  which  was 
abroad,  the  gathering  was  a  singularly  successful  one.  It  was 
odd  in  several  ways.  There  were  no  magnificent  decorations, 
only  the  ordinary  summer  flowers  in  the  ordinary  places  ; 
no  professional  entertainers,  no  hired  musicians.  There  was 
some  little  music,  for  there  were  among  those  present  one  or 
two  who  could  only  really  express  themselves  that  way. 
And  since  Desire  would  have  each  and  all  of  her  friends 
express  themselves  to  her  that  night,  these  must  do  it  this 
way,  to  her  and  for  her — the  rest  listening  to  what  is  usually 
reserved  for  the  elect  to  hear.  But  the  thing  which  made 
the  gathering  different  from  most  others  was  that  every  one 
present  was  here  because  he  was  really  wanted,  and  because 
he  wanted  to  come,  pleasure  not  duty  had  dictated  every 
invitation  and  every  acceptance.  All  who  came,  came  as 
early  as  they  could  and  stayed  as  late  as  they  could  ;  it  was 
no  social  function  sandwiched  in  between  others  to  serve 
some  purpose,  it  was  a  seeking  enjoyment  where  it  was 
expected  to  be  found.  It  must  be  admitted  men  largely 
predominated  in  the  gathering,  and  the  haze  of  smoke  was 
blue  in  an  atmosphere  where  formality  was  not  greatly 
regarded.  Desire  herself  was  brilliant  with  a  brilliancy 
which  was  rather  meteoric  and  which  had  something  of 
recklessness  in  its  whole-hearted  abandonment  to  the 
moment.  Not  that  any  one  noticed  it,  unless  perhaps 
Julian  Lee  did,  and  he,  besides  still  being  in  love,  had  the 
advantage  of  being  the  only  person  to  whom  she  gave 
the  slightest  hint  of  the  possibility  of  there  being  aught 
amiss. 

It  was  to  him  she  expounded  her  theory  of  happiness. 
"  The  whole  art  of  happiness,"  she  told  him,  "  lies  in  the 
possession  of  water-tight  compartments.  If  you  are  properly 
fitted  up  with  them  you  can  shut  away  what  is  not  neces- 

171 


DESIRE 

sary  for  the  moment  and  enjoy  the  time  being,  if  so  be  the 
time  being  is  enjoyable.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Don't  know,"  he  answered  ;  "  I  should  think  it  depends 
rather  what  it  is  you've  got  to  shut  away.  Some  things," 
his  eyes  were  upon  her,  "  are  rather  big." 

"  No,  they  are  not,"  she  assured  him.  "  Nothing's  too  big 
or  too  bad,  though  sometimes  we  think  it  so  :  that's  our 
mistake.  I — "  she  pointed  a  fan  at  her  own  breast,  "  I 
who  tell  you,  know  it." 

"  No  you  don't,"  he  said  bluntly ;  "  you  don't  know 
anything  about  a  thing  which  is  too  big  and  not  to  be 
cleared  out  by  a  pleasant  pastime — but  I  can  tell  you 
something." 

He  made  a  movement  forward,  and  she  held  out  her  hand. 
"  Must  you  really  be  going  ? "  she  said  sweetly. 

He  looked  a  moment,  then  he  laughed,  there  was  always 
so  much  of  jest  in  Desire's  rudeness  that  people  seldom 
resented  it. 

"  No,"  he  said  ;  c<  I  must  not,  and  unless  you  order  me  to, 
I  will  not  yet." 

"  Better,"  she  advised  him,  "  better  go  while  the  glamour 
is  still  on,  glamour  does  not  last." 

There  was  an  underlying  earnestness  in  her  light  tone,  he 
observed  it  but  he  did  not  take  the  advice,  he  stayed  to  the 
very  end.  Indeed,  he  was  one  of  the  two  guests  who 
left  last  of  all. 

The  hour  by  then  was  very  late,  or  rather  early,  for  the 
summer  dawn  was  beginning  to  filter  in  through  the  drawn 
blinds,  no  one  seeming  in  any  hurry  to  cut  short  the  present 
good  moment.  But  at  last  they  went ;  some  one  who  had 
an  early  train  to  catch  made  the  first  move  ;  others  followed, 
and  at  length  the  big  drawing-room  was  left  empty.  Desire 
went  to  the  stairhead  with  her  last  but  one  guest,  an  elderly 

172 


DESIRE 

politician  with  a  hard  day's  work  before  him.  Lee,  the  last  of 
all,  perforce  followed  them  when  she  paused  in  the  doorway 
for  him  to  do  so.  She  shook  hands  with  him  as  well  as  the 
other  when  they  came  to  the  stairs,  and  reluctantly  he 
accompanied  the  elder  man  down,  she  standing  alone  look- 
ing after  them  a  moment — somehow  a  gorgeous  figure  in 
spite  of  her  black  dress  and  the  merciless  dawn  light. 

"  Good-night ! "  she  called,  leaning  on  the  balustrade. 
"  Good-bye  ! " 

The  white  carnations  in  her  breast  tumbled  to  the  rail 
and  were  crushed  against  her  body  till  she  pulled  them  out. 

"  Give  them  to  me,"  Lee  said,  looking  up,  and  he  made  a 
movement  as  if  he  would  come  back  for  them. 

"  Catch  !  "  she  said,  and  threw  them  past  him  into  the 
hall,  far  down  towards  the  doorway. 

"  For  farewell,"  she  said,  leaning  down  to  see  him  pick 
them  up.  Then  she  turned  away. 

As  she  turned,  the  hair  on  which  her  pearls  were  threaded 
gave  way.  She  caught  the  string  as  it  slipped  so  that  only 
three  fell  to  the  floor  and  these  she  found  at  once,  but  she 
had  a  feeling  that  this  too  was  for  farewell.  Like  Cinder- 
ella's slipper  the  pearls  had  fallen  now  that  the  hour  was 
passed.  She  gathered  them  all  and  went  slowly  up-stairs. 

In  her  bed-room  she  found  her  maid,  contrary  to  orders, 
waiting  up  for  her  ;  for  a  moment  the  woman's  presence, 
any  one's  presence,  jarred  on  her. 

"  Barton,"  she  said,  "  did  I  forget  to  tell  you  to  go  to 
bed  ? " 

"  No,  miss,"  Barton  answered  apologetically,  "  but  I 
thought  perhaps  you  might  want  me  after  all ;  I'll  go  if  you 
don't,  but  I  thought  you  might  be  tired,  sleeping  badly  as 
you  have  been  of  late." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  have  slept  badly  ?  " 

173 


DESIRE 

"  By  the  pillows,  miss,"  Barton  said,  with  a  touch  of 
superiority;  "they  are  so  tumbled,  and  then  there  is  the 
cigarette  ash." 

Desire  smiled,  the  woman's  watchful  thought  for  her 
touched  her,  pleased  her  too,  for  at  that  moment  it  seemed 
to  indicate  that  after  all  the  world  was  a  good  world  and 
the  people  in  it  more  kindly  disposed  to  one  another  in  the 
main  than  she  at  least  deserved. 

"  I'm  glad  you  have  waited.     Yes,  I  think  I  am  tired." 

But  in  spite  of  the  admission,  when  she  had  her  dressing- 
gown  on  and  her  hair  brushed,  she  changed  her  mind  about 
going  to  bed.  She  had  suddenly  come  to  a  decision — 
somebody  must  be  told  something  about  affairs,  and  Barton 
was  perhaps  the  most  suitable  person,  especially  as  she  was 
always  liable  to  find  out  a  certain  amount  on  her  own 
account.  If  she  was  to  be  told  there  was  no  time  like  the 
present. 

"  Are  you  sleepy  ? "  she  inquired  of  the  woman. 

"  No,  miss." 

"  Sure  ?  Could  you  do  without  going  to  bed  at  all — if 
you  could  sleep  for  a  week  afterwards  to  make  up  ?  All 
right  then,  draw  up  the  blinds ;  I  have  got  crowds  of  things 
to  do,  and  I  should  be  glad  if  you  would  help  me.  First  of 
all  I  must  tell  you  I  am  leaving  here  to-morrow — no,  to-day 
it  is,  leaving  for  good  and  all,  I  mean." 

And  forthwith  she  proceeded  to  tell  what  she  thought  it 
necessary  Barton  should  know.  It  was  more  than  she  wanted 
to  tell,  but  not  so  much  as  the  woman  and  the  other  servants 
would  be  likely  to  discover  or  invent  for  themselves  if  they 
were  left  completely  uninformed  unofficially.  Needless  to 
state  Lady  Quebell  and  her  action  did  not  figure  in  the  in- 
formation at  all,  it  concerned  Desire  alone — that  at  her 
father's  death  her  income  ceased,  that  she  was  not  going  to 

174 


DESIRE 

keep  a  maid  or  live  with  her  step-mother  in  future,  that  she 
was,  in  fact,  going  to  strike  out  a  line  for  herself. 

Barton,  helped  as  she  was  by  sundry  rumours  which  had 
reached  the  servants'  hall,  could  not  at  once  realize  or  accept 
all  this  ;  it  took  time  for  her  to  grasp  a  situation  so  terrible 
in  her  estimation.  When  she  did,  she  did  not  at  all  see  it 
in  the  light  in  which  Desire  put  it ;  she  only  saw  it  as  an 
overwhelming  catastrophe  which  had  overtaken  her  mistress. 
And  when  she  grasped  the  news  of  the  doing  without  a 
maid  she  burst  into  tears,  to  the  great  discomfiture  of 
Desire. 

"  Now,  Barton,"  Desire  said,  "  don't !  What  on  earth 
are  you  crying  for  ?  I'm  sorry  to  give  you  such  short  notice, 
it's  mean  of  me,  I  know,  but  I'll  get  you  another  situation, 
a  good  one  ;  there  are  plenty  of  women  I  know  who'd  be 
glad  to  have  you.  What,  crying  because  you  are  going  to 
leave  me,  or  rather  I  you  !  You  shouldn't  do  that,  you'll 
never  get  another  mistress  who's  half  the  plague  I  am.  It's 
awfully  nice  of  you  to  mind  leaving  me.  I  mind,  too,  but  it 
can't  be  helped,  you  know." 

Barton  thought  it  could,  she  did  not  want  any  wages  for 
a  long  time,  she  said,  she  had  plenty  of  savings,  she  only 
wanted  to  stay  on.  Desire  had  to  make  plain  to  her  that 
she  could  not  do  that ;  that,  much  as  she  herself  appreciated 
the  devotion,  she  could  not  accept  the  service,  the  loan  of 
savings,  or  any  of  the  other  things  which  were  offered  in 
succession. 

At  this  Barton  wept  afresh,  and  Desire  had  to  become 
severe.  "  You  know,"  she  said,  "  it  really  is  rather  selfish  of 
you  to  go  on  like  this,  just  because  I'm  going  to  have  the 
time  of  my  life  and  going  to  set  out  to  seek  my  fortune. 
There's  nothing  in  the  world  half  so  fine  as  seeking  your 
fortune." 

175 


DESIRE 

"  If  you'd  let  me  stay  with  you,  miss — — "  Barton  began. 

"  It'd  be  lovely,  of  course,  but  I  can't,"  Desire  said  hastily  ; 
"  besides,  you'd  get  demoralized  ;  there'd  be  nothing  for  you 
to  do.  I  shan't  have  any  jewelry  to  lock  up,  or  any  en- 
gagements to  keep,  or  any  clothes  to  put  away.  Brush  my 
hair  ?  I'll  brush  that  myself,  or  if  that's  too  much  bother 
cut  it  off  and  give  up  brushing  except  on  Sundays." 

Barton  gasped  at  the  idea  of  such  sacrilege. 

"  If  you  don't  stop  crying,"  Desire  threatened,  "  I'll  cut 
it  off  right  away  and  give  it  to  you  to  wipe  your  eyes  on. 
Now,  let's  leave  off  talking  nonsense  and  get  to  work. 
First  of  all  I  want  all  the  jewelry  I  have  got  collected 
together  and  packed  in  a  box.  You  have  got  my  keys,  I 
think?" 

Barton  produced  the  keys  and  obediently  began  to  collect 
the  jewels,  sniffing  a  little  at  intervals. 

"  If  it  isn't  a  liberty,  miss,"  she  said  when  she  was  com- 
posed, "  I  should  like  to  inquire  what  her  ladyship  says  to 
this." 

Her  respectful  manner  was  quite  colourless  again.  She 
knew  better  than  her  mistress  how  to  hide  the  antagonism 
which  she  felt,  far  more  strongly  than  Desire,  for  Lady 
Quebell. 

Desire  was  stripping  the  rings  from  her  fingers.  "  I'm 
not  sure  it  is  not  rather  a  liberty,"  she  said  without  looking 
round  ;  "  still,  I'll  tell  you — her  ladyship  has  nothing  to  say  ; 
she  never  does  to  anything  on  which  I  have  set  my  mind." 

Barton  did  not  answer  but  busied  herself  with  the  jewels ; 
however,  after  a  minute  she  ventured  in  the  same  respectful 
way.  "  Her  ladyship  has  the  money,  I  suppose,  miss  ? 
Mr.  Parker  said  she  had." 

"  Of  course,"  Desire  said  ;  "  what  else  is  there  for  the  poor 
soul  to  have  ?  I  have  all  the  games." 

176 


DESIRE 

Barton  sniffed,  but  it  was  not  altogether  tearfully.  "  I'd 
be  ashamed,"  she  muttered  to  herself  as  she  went  to  a 
wardrobe  for  a  gold  belt  for  which  Desire  had  asked. 

"  What  did  you  say  ? "  Desire  thought  it  wise  to  inquire. 
'<  That  it  is  an  unfair  division  and  uncomfortable  for  her 
ladyship  ?  So  it  is  ;  it  places  her  in  a  very  awkward 
position,  but  it  can't  be  helped.  Is  that  the  belt  ?  Thank 
you  ;  now  pack  everything  together.  As  soon  as  you  can 
I  want  you  to  find  out  how  I  can  best  sell  these  things." 

"  Sell  them  ?  "  Barton  queried. 

"  Yes  ;  I'm  not  going  hungry  while  I  am  seeking  fortune, 
and,  great  as  is  my  belief  in  myself,  I  don't  expect  to  find  it 
to-morrow  morning." 

Barton  set  her  lips  and  began  to  pack  the  jewelry  in  a 
wooden  box,  she  was  as  nearly  shocked  as  it  was  possible 
for  one  who  had  long  attended  on  Desire  to  be.  Desire 
herself  was  quite  unaware  of  it,  and  set  to  getting  out  her 
clothes — dresses,  petticoats,  coats  and  cloaks  and  hats,  a  great 
quantity  :  Barton  had  packed  the  jewels  long  before  she  had 
done. 

"  What  a  heap  they  look  !  "  she  exclaimed  when  at  last 
everything  was  out  and  every  article  of  furniture  and  most 
of  the  floor  space  piled  with  things.  "  I  had  no  idea  one 
had  so  many  clothes  ;  it'll  take  for  ever  to  sort  them.  But 
we  must  do  it,  the  greater  part  won't  be  a  particle  of  use  to 
me  and  will  have  to  be  sold." 

Barton  began  to  help  with  the  sorting  ;  she  offered  no 
remonstrances  ;  it  was  clear  she  felt  the  case  beyond  words. 
Desire  on  her  part  was  quite  cheerful,  and  discarded  without 
a  pang  lace  ball  dresses,  embroidered  opera  cloaks,  and  other 
fragile  sartorial  triumphs. 

"  I  shall  keep  a  good  lot  of  the  most  serviceable  things," 
she  said  ;  "  there's  no  telling  when  I  shall  get  any  more. 
12  177 


DESIRE 

It's  as  well  I  never  followed  the  fashions  too  closely  for,  as 
I  shall  have  to  wear  them  as  they  are  for  the  next  four  or 
five  years,  my  clothes  will  all  be  of  one  date.  Barton,  I 
ought  to  have  learned  to  sew  ;  it  has  never  struck  me  before  ; 
I  shall  have  to  darn  my  stockings,  you  know." 

"  I  could  do  that,  miss,"  Barton  said  almost  cheerfully  ; 

"  you  can't  do  without  some  one,  miss,  and  I " 

"  Am  not  coming,"  Desire  said,  with  a  sudden  drop  to 
gravity.  "  I  appreciate  your  still  wanting  to  come  much, 
but  it  can't  be  done.  That  is  already  settled  ;  you  under- 
stand it,  don't  you  ? " 

Barton  did  now,  at  least  she  understood  that  when  Desire 
spoke  like  that  she  was  the  mistress  and  as  unapproachable 
as  the  most  haughty  lady  in  the  land. 

The  sorting  took  long  and  the  necessary  packing  longer. 
Breakfast-time  had  come  before  they  had  finished,  lunch 
before  Desire  was  ready  to  go. 

It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  she  took  her  final 
departure  and  then  her  destination  was  of  Barton's 
suggesting. 

"  My  eldest  sister  lets  rooms,  miss,"  the  woman  ventured  ; 
"  you'd  be  as  comfortable  there  as  anywhere  for  a  night  or 
two,  till  you  have  made  your  plans." 

Making  plans  had  not  heretofore  been  much  in  Desire's 
line  ;  she  had  usually  rather  taken  things  as  they  happened 
and  let  the  next  happening  take  care  of  itself.  However,  it 
was  necessary  to  have  a  temporary  address  and  a  place  for 
things  to  be  sent,  somewhere  to  tell  the  cabman  to  drive  to. 
As  it  evidently  pleased  Barton  to  be  able  to  do  this  much, 
she  thanked  her  and  agreed  to  go  to  the  sister's,  on  condition 
that  she  went  unheralded,  and  also  that  Barton  kept  the 
secret  of  her  whereabouts  from  unsuitable  persons. 

A   cab  was   fetched,   the    luggage    loaded    on    the    roof, 

178 


DESIRE 

and    Desire,    after    a    painful    parting   with    Barton,    went 
out. 

"Good-bye,"  Desire  said  to  Parker,  who  was  superin- 
tending the  placing  of  the  luggage  ;  "  I'm  afraid  I  shan't  see 
you  again  for  a  good  while." 

"Good-bye,    miss,"    Parker    replied,    with    a    solemnity 
befitting  his  position. 

But  there  was  that  in  Desire  that  upset  position,  some- 
times actually  a  person's  notion  of  his  own,  and  reduced  even 
a  first-class  butler  to  mere  man.  Desire,  with  outstretched 
hand  and  full,  deep  voice  bidding  farewell,  got  at  the  man  in 
Parker.  He  put  her  into  the  cab,  he  said  good-bye  to  her  as 
if  he  were  human  and  she  were  human,  and  he  minded  that 
she  was  going. 

"  Good-bye,"  she  cried  ;  "  you'll  find  it  blissfully  peaceful 
without  me,"  and  she  leaned  forward  to  nod  to  him  with  her 
expressive  smile. 

Then  the  cab  started,  and  she  leaned  back,  the  smile 
fading  from  her  lips,  but  lingering  bravely  in  her  eyes.  She 
did  not  look  back,  she  would  not  indulge  even  herself  in  any 
effective  or  affecting  scenes,  possibly  she  was  less  ready  to 
indulge  herself  than  any  one  else.  She  felt  for  her  cigarette 
case  and  lighted  a  cigarette  with  a  curious  concentration  of 
attention.  Then  slowly  she  smoked  it,  a  thing  she  rarely 
did  in  so  public  a  place  as  a  cab.  Perhaps  it  was  as  much 
with  a  view  to  the  cigarette  as  the  quantity  of  luggage  that 
she  had  ordered  a  four-wheeler  and  not  a  hansom. 


179 


CHAPTER  XII 

Miss  BARTON  was  a  somewhat  dreary  person  ;  interested 
in  nothing,  not  even  her  lodgers'  business,  and  enthusiastic 
about  nothing,  not  even  her  own.  Life  had  been  hard  on 
her  ;  in  her  early  days  she  had  had  a  large  family  of  step- 
brothers and  sisters  to  bring  up — the  Barton  who  attended 
on  Desire  Quebell  was  one  of  them.  In  her  later  days  she 
let  lodgings  to  superior  people,  generally  the  poor  superior 
who  knew  something  about  the  other  side  of  the  self-same 
struggle  that  was  hers,  but  in  whom,  as  in  herself,  it  had 
begotten  drabness  and  dreariness  rather  than  sympathy. 
This,  possibly,  was  small  deprivation  to  Miss  Barton,  for 
she  wanted  to  hear  nothing  from  them  but  what  they 
required  to  eat,  to  tell  nothing  to  them  but  whether  they 
could  or  could  not  have  it,  to  receive  nothing  from  them 
but  the  money  which  was  her  due,  and  to  give  nothing  to 
them  but  the  service  she  was  paid  for.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  among  her  own  kin  even  she  was  more  expressive 
and  reciprocal,  certainly  she  did  not  feel  the  slightest  interest 
that  Desire  Quebell  was  recommended  to  her  rooms  by  her 
half-sister  Barton,  the  maid  ;  nor  yet  in  the  fact  that  her 
lodger's  surname  was  the  same  as  that  of  the  family  where 
her  sister  served.  Probably  she  did  not  remember  that, 
certainly  she  did  not  think  about  it  if  she  did. 

Desire  found  herself  established  in  the  apartments  with 
very  little  talk  and  commotion.  It  had  taken  a  wonderfully 
short  time  to  transfer  her  from  her  old  life  to  this  new  one, 

1 80 


DESIRE 

or  this  sort  of  waiting-room  of  the  new  one.  In  some  ways 
Miss  Barton's  was  like  a  waiting-room,  too,  the  same  feature- 
lessness,  the  same  sense  of  temporary  accommodation  only. 
Before  tea  Desire  was  established  ;  she  had  even  unpacked 
everything  she  wanted  unpacked  and  put  most  of  it  away — 
a  less  congenial  task  to  her,  but  one  she  did  conscientiously 
to-day.  After  that  she  had  tea,  and  after  that — there  was  a 
whole  long  evening  before  her  with  nothing  to  do  and  no 
one  to  speak  to  !  When  she  suddenly  realized  that  there 
was  nothing  more  to  happen  it  rather  startled  her.  Next 
minute  she  laughed,  possibly  at  herself  for  finding  it 
startling. 

She  rose  and  began  minutely  to  examine  the  sitting- 
room,  its  furniture  and  ornaments.  She  had  almost  always 
found  things  interesting,  even  the  things  other  people 
ordinarily  found  dull  ;  this  room  was  one  of  the  few 
exceptions.  It  was  a  little  shabby,  eminently  respectable, 
quite  featureless  ;  the  furniture  was  neither  new  nor  old,  it 
had  never  been  beautiful  or  very  good,  or  gaudy  or  very  bad, 
it  was  merely  sufficient.  The  ornaments,  which  did  not 
ornament,  were  much  what  a  small  furniture  dealer  would 
have  set  forth  on  a  cabinet  in  his  show-room  ;  there  were 
no  family  groups,  no  portraits,  no  presents  from  anywhere, 
not  a  human  touch.  Desire  turned  to  the  window.  The 
outlook  was  respectable ;  a  quiet,  rather  narrow  street, 
shabby  genteel  houses  in  need  of  paint  opposite  ;  a  few,  a 
very  few,  genteel  people,  some  shabby,  some  even  without 
that  characteristic,  passing  occasionally,  nothing  more.  A 
long,  light  summer  evening,  entirely  without  sun,  the  street 
was  too  narrow  for  the  sun  to  get  there — and  nothing 
further  to  happen.  Desire  sat  down  in  the  saddle-bag  arm- 
chair near  the  window,  and  in  her  mind  she  began  to  be 
aware  that  the  rock  on  which  her  ship  of  fortune  was  most 

181 


DESIRE 

likely  to  wreck  was  monotonous  respectability.  A  horrible 
unnamed  fear  shook  her.  Supposing  she  was  not  able  to 
stand  it  ? 

The  next  morning  she  set  out  to  try  and  find  out  the 
best  way  of  selling  her  jewels.  To  do  this  she  went  east- 
ward, which  was  both  new  and  amusing.  She  did  not  find 
out  very  much  about  the  selling  of  jewels  that  day,  but  that 
did  not  matter,  there  was  no  immediate  hurry,  she  still 
having  some  balance  at  the  bank.  But  she  enjoyed  the 
expedition,  it  brought  her  in  contact  with  people  and  things, 
people  jand  things,  too,  with  which  she  had  had  heretofore 
little  dealing.  The  afternoon,  a  long  afternoon,  she  spent 
within  doors  trying  to  teach  herself  to  darn  stockings.  In 
this  she  was  not  very  successful,  and  after  a  while  she  threw 
the  stocking  aside  and  smoked,  and  considered  her  position 
and  future,  and  she  found  it  grimly  amusing — she  never  saw 
things  as  desperate. 

The  next  day,  a  Saturday,  a  niece  came  to  see  Miss 
Barton.  She  was  a  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty,  wearing  a 
smart  blouse  and  a  flowery  hat.  She  also  wore  a  long  string 
of  beads,  which  broke  as  she  was  coming  up-stairs.  Desire, 
who  was  passing,  saw  it,  and  helped  pick  them  up,  reminded 
nevitably  of  the  breaking  of  her  own  string  of  pearls.  Of 
course,  she  became  acquainted  with  the  owner  during  the 
picking  up.  She  had  not  held  intercourse  with  a  human 
being  since  she  parted  from  Barton,  unless  one  could  count 
as  intercourse  her  interviews  on  the  subject  of  jewel  selling. 
Also  she  had  never  before  met  a  young  lady  of  this  sort,  and 
was  consequently  interested  in  her.  The  girl  returned  the 
sentiment,  though  in  a  different  form.  Desire,  something 
both  new  and  strange  to  her,  aroused  her  curiosity,  and 
also  a  subconscious  antagonism,  half  disapproval,  half 
jealousy. 

182 


DESIRE 

The  girl,  Desire  learnt,  was  a  typist  in  a  city  office  ;  she 
had  a  satisfactory  situation  and  a  sufficient  salary,  and  was 
pleased  with  herself,  her  work,  her  liberty  and  everything 
else.  Desire  was  much  struck  with  the  happiness  of  this 
frame  of  mind,  and  became  greatly  interested  in  the  way  it 
was  arrived  at  and  the  circumstances  of  its  fortunate  possessor 
and  her  work. 

"  It  sounds  quite  delightful,"  she  said,  "  I  think  I'd  better 
become  a  typist." 

"You!" 

Miss  Barton's  niece  looked  at  her  in  unfeigned  astonish- 
ment. She  admitted  to  few  superiors  and  had  no  recogni- 
tion of  the  old-fashioned  prejudice  of  class  distinction,  but 
she  felt  that  Desire  was  "  different." 

"  You  couldn't,"  she  said  shortly. 

"  Why  not  ? "  Desire  inquired.  She  had  not  thought  of 
the  matter  in  a  serious  light,  but  the  curtness  and  decision 
of  the  girl's  tone  at  once  inspired  it  with  an  additional 
interest.  "  How  did  you  become  one  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  learnt,"  was  the  answer. 

Desire  of  course  wanted  to  know  how  ;  she  invited  the 
girl  to  come  into  her  sitting-room  and  tell  her  about  it. 
And  the  girl  accepted  the  invitation  because  she  was  curious 
to  see  the  photographs  and  ornaments  and  other  personal 
effects  which  she  expected  to  find  added  to  the  furnishing  of 
the  room. 

In  this,  however,  she  was  destined  to  disappointment ; 
Desire  kept  few  of  these  feminine  appurtenances,  and  had 
unpacked  none.  The  visitor  was  sorry  she  had  come,  more 
especially  as  Desire  in  her  own  room  had  the  same  manner 
that  she  had  when  she  was  "  at  home  "  on  Sundays,  or  at 
any  other  time  and  place  when  she  received  company — a 
manner  the  very  easiness  of  which  embarrassed  the  typist  and 


DESIRE 

made  her  feel  unsure  of  herself.  But  since  she  had  come  she 
did  not  see  how  immediately  to  go  away  again,  so  she  stayed 
and  told  Desire  what  she  wanted  to  know.  How  she 
herself  had  attended  classes  in  the  city  for  book-keeping, 
typewriting,  shorthand  and  kindred  things.  How,  when 
she  was  certified  proficient,  she  had  secured  her  present 
situation  by  answering  advertisements.  She  told  where  the 
classes  were  held,  how  much,  or  rather,  how  little  they  cost, 
and  the  beautifully  simple  system  on  which  the  term  was 
arranged,  so  that  a  pupil  could  begin  when  she  liked,  leave 
off  when  she  liked,  and  learn  what  she  liked.  She  also  gave 
further  details  of  her  present  work,  its  advantages  and 
disadvantages. 

Desire's  interest  was  fully  aroused  ;  this,  so  she  decided  in 
her  headlong  way,  was  the  kind  of  thing  for  her  ;  if  she  had 
any  ability  at  all  it  would  be  for  this  sort  of  work  ;  and  if 
she  had  any  chance  whatever  of  getting  on  it  would  be  in 
some  such  work  as  this,  which  was  not  cast  among  women, 
whom  she  never  understood,  and  by  whom  she  was  seldom 
liked.  She  would  attend  the  classes,  become  proficient,  and 
secure  a  situation.  She  had  still  a  part  of  the  last  instalment 
of  the  liberal  allowance  her  father  used  to  make  her,  there 
were  her  clothes  and  jewels,  too,  still  to  be  sold  ;  she  could 
easily  afford  to  try  the  experiment,  it  would  be  better  than 
doing  nothing,  and  would  not,  of  course,  interfere  with  any 
future  plans  if  she  made  them.  No  thought  of  unsuitability 
or  incongruity  troubled  Desire,  nor  any  notion  of  other 
people's  opinions ;  nothing  did  when  once  she  had  caught 
hold  of  an  idea  except  that  which  would  help  or  hinder  it. 
Let  her  once  get  a  thread,  no  matter  from  what  unlikely 
place,  and  she  would  follow  it  with  enthusiasm  :  it  was,  no 
doubt,  to  this  faculty  that  she  had  heretofore  owed  much  of 
her  enjoyment  and  some  of  her  success. 

184 


DESIRE 

So  it  fell  out  that  as  soon  as  might  be  she  entered  herself 
as  a  student  at  some  of  the  classes  described  to  her.  It  was 
an  easy  thing  to  do,  as  easy  as  establishing  oneself  at  Miss 
Barton's  rooms,  requiring  no  more  talk  and  little  more 
notice.  There  were  always  classes  for  beginners  there,  and 
always  beginners  for  the  classes  ;  it  was  all  coming  and  going 
and  no  being,  no  more  pause  or  stay  in  the  pupils  and  no 
more  importance  in  individuals  than  in  the  crowd  at  a  rail- 
way station.  It  was  a  novelty  to  Desire,  not  altogether  an 
attractive  one,  but  very  convenient. 

She  began  as  soon  as  possible  to  attend  the  classes  with 
great  regularity,  applying  herself  to  learning  with  all  her 
might.  At  first,  it  must  be  confessed,  she  found  it  difficult ; 
the  whole  thing,  the  very  speech  and  habit  of  mind,  was  new 
to  her,  to  learn  this  sort  of  thing  and  in  this  sort  of  way  was 
very  troublesome  to  her  for  a  little.  But  pretty  soon  she 
grew  used  to  it  and,  the  difficulty  of  novelty  once  overcome, 
she  began  to  get  on  fast.  There  were  some  things,  of  course, 
which  she  never  learned.  They  were  not  among  the  subjects 
which  she  had  undertaken,  but  had  more  to  do  with  conform- 
ing to  accepted  standards  and  similar  things.  She  never 
learnt  to  conform,  nor  did  she  ever  really  become  aware  that 
there  was  anything  to  conform  to  or  that  she  did  not  do  it. 
She  was  in  these  new  circumstances  just  herself,  as  she  had 
been  in  her  former  life  ;  and,  as  in  her  former  life,  the  people 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact  had  to  accept  it  as  it  was, 
she  always  remaining  unconscious  that  there  was  any  differ- 
ence between  it  and  others. 

What  they  thought  of  the  new  student  at  the  Commercial 
College  is  not  recorded.  They  must  have  found  her  some- 
what astonishing ;  it  is  worthy  of  notice  that,  though  she 
was  usually  a  friendly  person,  and  certainly  in  her  present 
circumstances  a  lonely  one,  no  one  became  intimate  with  her 

185 


DESIRE 

during  the  time  she  attended  the  classes.  The  students  held 
aloof  from  her,  not  because  she  was  proud  or  they  stand-offish, 
or  either  side  generally  disinclined  for  acquaintance,  but 
simply  because  she  was  herself  and  utterly  alien  to  them  and 
their  experience.  Some  of  the  girls  distrusted  her  on  sight 
without  knowing  why,  some  were  unconsciously  jealous  of 
her,  some  genuinely  shocked  by  ways  and  sayings  and  out- 
look which,  entirely  unknown  to  her,  failed  to  conform  to 
their  standard  ;  one  and  all  knew  her  for  a  stranger.  With 
the  men  she  got  on  better,  though  she  never  really  established 
her  usual  friendly  footing  with  any  of  them.  For  them  all 
she  had  one  manner,  from  the  superintendent  to  the  door- 
keeper and  the  youngest  embryo  office-boy,  she  treated  them 
with  the  frank  camaraderie  she  had  for  all  men,  from  peers 
to  porters.  A  few  took  unpleasant  advantage  of  it — such 
are  to  be  met  with  in  all  classes — but  they  did  not  transgress 
twice.  She  knew  how  to  treat  that  mistake,  no  matter  by 
whom  made.  For  the  most  part,  however,  though  they  were 
dazzled  they  were  also  puzzled  by  her,  and  felt  that  she  did 
not  belong,  that  she  or  they  were  out  of  the  right  element. 
The  door-keeper,  an  old  soldier,  was  the  man  with  whom 
she  got  on  best,  the  only  person  completely  at  ease  with  her. 
She  talked  to  him  always  as  a  man  and  a  brother,  and  he 
saluted  as  she  passed  as  if  it  had  been  the  general  under 
whom  he  used  to  serve,  opened  her  umbrella  for  her  on 
rainy  days  as  if  he  had  been  her  butler,  and  once  by 
accident  addressed  her  as  "  my  lady."  The  girls  said  he  was 
an  old  fool  and  she  spoilt  him  ;  they  did  not  perceive  that  he 
had  done  what  they  had  failed  to  do,  in  a  measure  succeeded 
in  placing  her  in  his  scale  of  things. 

The  Commercial  Classes  were  not  an  unmixed  success  so 
far  as  Desire  was  concerned.  She  learnt  what  she  went  to 
learn,  it  is  true,  but  they  depressed  her,  they  were  one  of  the 

186 


DESIRE 

few  experiences  of  her  life  out  of  which  she  extracted  little 
amusement  and  no  enjoyment.  Also  they — or  her  loneliness 
or  something  else,  or  all  combined — made  her  almost  for  the 
first  time  conscious  of  herself.  Her  pleasant  house  of  life  was 
tumbling  and  crumbling  under  the  shocks  of  the  past  year  ; 
several  of  the  old  agreeable  illusions  were  gone,  and  herself 
was  beginning  to  show  plainer  and  more  real,  at  times  to 
be  the  only  real  thing  left.  Nevertheless,  she  went  on  with 
the  classes  ;  she  had  undertaken  to  master  several  subjects  and 
she  would  do  so  even  though  they  were  small  use  to  her 
afterwards.  Some  of  the  girl  students  had  assured  her  they 
would  be  no  use  at  all ;  one,  in  an  unusual  burst  of  friend- 
liness, warned  her  that  she  would  never  succeed  in  the  city. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Desire  asked. 

"  Because  you  wouldn't,"  was  the  unenlightening  answer. 
"  But  you  never  thought  really  of  it,  did  you  ?  Why,  we 
never  thought  of  you  and  city  work  !  You  couldn't  do  it 
anyhow." 

"  Why  not  ? "  Desire  repeated.  "  Of  course  I  came  here 
with  the  idea  of  preparing  for  it  j  what  else  should  I  come 
for  ?  What  does  any  one  come  for  ? " 

The  girl  did  not  tell  her  that  none  of  them  had  been  able 
to  imagine  why  she  had  come,  and  that  none  of  them  in  the 
wildest  flights  of  fancy  ever  dreamed  she  was  so  absurd  as  to 
think  she  was  going  to  enter  a  city  office  as  a  clerk  or  typist. 
But  when  she  persisted  in  her  inquiry  as  to  why  the  work 
was  impossible  to  her,  the  girl  was  obliged  to  give  some  sort 
of  an  answer. 

"  You're  not  the  sort,"  she  explained  ;  "  you'd  never  do. 
Oh,  I  know  you've  learnt  typing  and  the  rest  all  right,  but 
you  don't  look Appearances  are  against  you." 

"  Appearances  ?  "  Desire  said.  "  Face  ?  Too  plain,  or 
too  pretty  ?  " 

187 


DESIRE 

"  Neither,"  the  girl  answered  shortly.  She  did  not  feel  at 
ease  discussing  appearances  with  Desire  ;  she  even  had  a 
suspicion  that  she  was  being  made  fun  of,  or  perhaps  con- 
descended to,  or  something  equally  unpleasant.  "  It's  the 
whole  thing,"  she  said  ;  "  you're  altogether  wrong  for  it, 
dress  and  all." 

Desire  glanced  at  her  own  dress,  then  at  her  companion's  ; 
then  she  looked  away  quickly  for  the  girl  coloured  a  little. 

"  A  skirt's  a  skirt  for  a'  that,"  she  said  lightly.  "  It  must 
be  the  blouse  which  is  wrong.  Won't  you  tell  me  about 
blouses  ?  Mine  is  wrong  and  yours  is  right.  I  might  get 
one  something  like  yours  perhaps.  Where  did  you  get  it  ? 
Will  you  give  me  the  address  of  your  dressmaker  ?  Women 
hate  to  be  asked  for  that,  I  know,  but  the  circumstances  are 
exceptional,  aren't  they  ?  And  I'll  promise  not  to  steal  her. 
I'll  get  just  one  blouse  as  a  pattern ." 

"  I  made  this  myself." 

The  girl's  voice  marked  several  hundred  leagues  ot 
difference  between  them,  and  Desire  perceived  she  had  made 
a  mistake  of  the  worst  sort.  How  silly  of  her  not  to  have 
remembered  that  the  blouse  was  likely  to  have  been  home 
made  !  All  girl  students  made  blouses,  she  heard  them  talk 
among  themselves  of  gauged  yokes  and  val.  insertion  and  bias 
fronts  and  other  technicalities  which  were  as  Greek  to  her. 
She  complimented  the  ingenuity  of  the  home  dressmaker 
now  and  quitted  the  delicate  subject  to  return  to  her  original 
question. 

"  Why  do  you  imagine  I  shall  not  succeed  as  a  clerk  ? 
Appearance  is  a  thing  which  is  easy  to  alter,  you  know,-  if  I 
set  that  right  I  suppose  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not 
do  as  well  as  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  her  informant  answered  bluntly ;  "  no 
man  in  his  senses  would  take  you  on  ;  for  one  thing  he'd 

188 


DESIRE 

feel  all  the  time  you  were  a  woman,  not  a  machine,  and  that 
you  were — oh,  I  don't  know — and,  anyhow,  he  couldn't 
give  you  orders." 

Desire  frowned.  "  That's  rather  nonsense,  you  know," 
she  said  ;  "  I  think  I  could  take  orders  as  well  as  any  one." 

"  No  one's  ever  given  'em  to  you,  I  bet ;  no  man,  anyway. 
Why,  look  at  the  men  here  !" 

The  conversation  was  getting  to  an  unprofitable  channel ; 
Desire  did  not  pursue  it  further,  she  only  announced  her 
intention  of  proving  the  matter  for  herself,  and  trying, 
when  she  was  qualified,  to  get  a  situation.  After  that  she 
went  home  to  her  rooms. 

It  was  a  Saturday,  a  very  wet  Saturday  towards  the  end 
of  July  :  there  had  been  a  lot  of  wet  Saturdays  that  month. 
It  rained  all  the  afternoon  ;  she  stayed  indoors  and  spent 
the  time  at  her  typewriter.  She  had  bought  a  second-hand 
machine  from  a  student  who  was  in  some  trouble  ;  she  had 
paid  what  would  have  been  considered  at  the  college  a 
perfectly  reckless  price  for  it,  and  had  conducted  the  trans- 
action with  a  briefness  and  privacy  unusual  there.  Since 
she  had  had  it  she  had  spent  much  time  practising,  and  by 
now  she  was  quite  proficient — so  much  so  as  to  make  the 
copying  of  the  newspaper,  and  the  inditing  of  letters  to  no 
one,  ridiculous.  Nevertheless  that  afternoon  she  went  on 
with  it  persistently  ;  it  was  the  best  thing  to  do  ;  whenever 
she  paused  to  choose  a  word  or  insert  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper 
she  heard  the  rain  pattering  on  the  window  pane  ;  there  was 
not  very  much  else  to  be  heard,  hardly  any  one  passed  along 
the  street  except  a  milkman,  and  once  a  coal  cart.  Some- 
times one  heard  distant  sounds  from  the  less  genteel  side 
street  not  far  off.  In  the  side  street  there  was  a  shop  which 
sold  sweets  and  tinned  things  inside  and  vegetables  out,  and 
which  did  nearly  as  much  trade  in  bad  weather  as  in  good. 

189 


DESIRE 

In  that  street,  too,  people  sometimes  exchanged  opinions  in 
shrill  voices  from  doorsteps.  Desire  had  more  than  once 
found  herself  wishing  her  window  looked  that  way.  She 
would  not  have  minded  the  talking  from  the  doorsteps,  she 
would  have  liked  it,  even  possibly  joined  in  ;  she  would  have 
been  interested  in  the  trouble  the  talkers  appeared  to  have 
with  their  husbands,  the  rent  collector  and  the  children  j  and 
have  sympathized  with  the  satisfaction  they  seemed  to  find  in 
an  occasional  glass  in  the  public-house  at  the  corner. 

The  wish  came  to  her  again  that  wet  afternoon.  It  came, 
as  it  nearly  always  did,  with  the  accompaniment  of  a 
humiliating  fear  that  she  would  not  be  able  to  hold  out, 
would  not  be  able  to  keep  on  enduring  the  colourless 
monotony  of  the  present.  She  had  been  so  used  to  move- 
ment, variety,  vivid  interests,  that  she  found  the  monotony 
and  narrowness  and  lack  of  human  outlet  in  her  present  life 
almost  terrible.  She  missed  the  luxury,  and  money  spending 
she  had  lost  very  little  ;  she  missed  the  change  and  interests 
and  eager  human  spending  acutely.  She  fought  the  feeling 
and  would  not  give  way  to  it ;  she  was  vaguely  conscious, 
though  without  actual  recognition,  that  monotony  is 
necessary  discipline,  that  nothing  is  achieved  without  it. 
She  was  very  fully  aware  that  it  is  the  lot  of  at  least  nine- 
tenths  of  the  human  race,  and  that  she,  who  had  had  many 
years  of  sunshine  and  champagne,  had  small  right  to  com- 
plain at  receiving  a  share  of  grey  weather  and  wholesome 
but  unexciting  milk  and  water.  She  was  also  aware  that  it 
was  of  her  own  choosing  ;  but  that  last  was  not  a  good  thing 
to  be  aware  of  for  it  entailed  the  other  fact  that  she  could 
also  choose  to  throw  it  up  if  it  became  unendurable,  a 
humiliating  remedy.  That  wet  afternoon  these  thoughts,  all 
familiar  company  by  this  time,  passed  through  her  mind  in 
some  shape  or  another  j  her  fingers  were  busy  with  the 

190 


DESIRE 

typewriter  but  her  attention  was  elsewhere,  and  in  a  little 
she  was  brought  up  with  a  jerk  by  running  beyond  the  line. 
She  stopped  in  some  self-contempt ;  she  was  like  a  young 
servant  whose  head  is  too  full  of  the  holiday  she  has  had  for 
her  to  be  able  to  attend  to  what  she  is  doing.  Desire  had 
always  felt  sympathetic  with  such  young  servants,  but  she 

was  rather  ashamed  to  find  herself  like  them.     And  yet 

Oh,  for  just  ten  minutes  with  some  one  from  the  old  world  ! 
Even  ten  minutes'  talk  about  the  old  things !  Not  better 
things  or  a  better  world,  but  the  ones  she  knew.  To  speak 
again  to  one  who  meant  what  she  meant  by  what  he  said,  to 
hear  again  of  what  she  used  to  hear,  to  strike  something 
which  would  respond  at  once  !  She  would  not  wish  for  the 
entertainments  of  the  past,  to  tell  the  truth,  they  had  lost 
something  of  their  savour,  and,  anyhow,  they  matched  ill  with 
a  working  life.  But  for  the  talk  !  Ten  minutes,  just  ten 
minutes  with  some  one  or  other  of  the  men  she  used 
almost  daily  to  meet  !  She  clasped  her  hands  behind  her 
head  and  gave  herself  up  to  recollections. 

But  in  a  little  a  question  forced  itself  upon  her  notice. 
Supposing  one  such  were  here  ?  Supposing  Bamfield, 
obliging,  useful  Bamfield  whom  she  had  known  for  years,  who 
had  served  her  for  years — supposing  he  were  here,  brought 
by  her  thought  as  he  easily  could  be  by  her  written  word — 
what  then  ?  It  would  be  quite  unendurable.  Neither  he 
nor  any  of  the  others  would  understand  her  position  or  the 
real  inside  of  what  had  befallen.  And  she  certainly  did  not 
want  them  to  try  :  it  was  the  last  thing  she  wanted.  She  had 
gone  out  from  among  them  cheerfully  and  left  them  with  a 
gay  recollection.  Rather  a  theatrical  ending,  perhaps,  but 
her  mother  was  of  the  theatres — she  was  not  of  the  sort  to 
commit  an  anti-climax  and  appear  after  "  positively  the  last 
appearance."  For  a  moment  she  recalled  that  last  appearance, 

191 


DESIRE 

and  Julian  Lee,  the  persistent,  who  would  stay  to  the  end, 
who  even  then  tried  to  come  back.  Now  possibly  he  was 
looking  forward  to  the  winter  when  he  would  expect  her  to 
re-appear  in  town.  He  would  certainly  come  at  her  bidding, 
come  to  this  genteel  little  room  and  probably  ask  her  to  marry 
him.  There  was  always  the  alternative  of  marriage  if  this 
was  unendurable — she  shivered  just  a  little  for,  inevitably, 
the  thought  of  marriage  recalled  another  man  from  the  old 
life,  Edward  Gore.  He  was  married  now  :  she  had  taken 
pains  to  keep  herself  informed  on  that  point  ;  at  last  he  had 
married  Edith — and  she,  poor  soul,  was  she  happy  ?  Did 
she  know  how  it  had  come  about  ?  He  would  never  tell  her 
that ;  his  pride  would  keep  it  back,  and  so  spare  her.  Desire 
shivered  again,  there  were  things  in  the  old  life  not  good  to 
recall.  But  one  thing  she  saw  plainly,  it  was  not  only  her 
step-mother's  act  and  her  father's  want  of  forethought  that 
had  ended  the  old  life,  Gore  had  done  his  part,  perhaps  the 
biggest  part  of  all.  A  wonderful  loneliness  in  which  her 
soul  felt  for  a  moment  like  one  naked  and  alone,  had  come 
pressing  upon  her  at  times  before  ever  she  was  banished  from 
the  old  world.  A  feeling  as  of  one  not  filled  and  satisfied 
had  entered  once  or  twice  into  the  play  while  she  still  played. 
Yes,  the  thing  was  ended — she  dropped  her  arms  from  behind 
her  head — ended.  Peace  be  to  its  ashes !  And  prosperity  to 
the  somewhat  ashy  prospect  which  was  all  that  at  present 
came  to  hand  ! 

She  lighted  a  cigarette  and  afterwards  applied  herself  to 
inditing  a  correspondence  between  firms  of  Rockefellerian 
magnitude  for  the  purchase  and  consignment  of  fifteen 
million  tons  of  ashes. 


192 


CHAPTER   XIII 

"  A  GENTLEMAN  to  see  you,  miss." 

When  Vera,  the  maid  of  all  work,  brought  this  informa- 
tion to  Desire,  the  clock  marked  only  ten  minutes  past  four  ; 
the  wet  afternoon;  was  not  nearly  spent,  though  the  fictitious 
correspondence  on  the  subject  of  ashes  had  become  as 
voluminous  as  if  the  War  Office  were  a  party  to  it. 

Desire  looked  up  from  her  typewriter.   "  To  see  me  ? " 

she  said.     "  Are  you  sure  ?     I  think  you  must  be  mistaken." 

Vera  was  quite  sure,  she  said  so  decidedly. 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  Desire  asked.     "  What  name  ? " 

"  I  didn't  ast,"  Vera  answered.    "Do  you  want  to  know  ?  " 

<c  Oh,  no  ;  it  doesn't  matter.    Ask  him  to  come  up,  please." 

After  all,  Desire  reflected,  she  might  as  well  see  him  since 

he  had  found  her,  whoever  it  was.     She  wondered  who  it 

could  be.     Her  father's  lawyer  ?     Parker  ?     Vera  would  not 

discriminate.       Either  of  the  two  might  want  to  see  her  on 

some  matter  of  business,  and  Barton  would  have  given  the 

address   if  applied  to  for  that  purpose ;  she  would  not  be 

applied  to  for  any  other.     Desire  had  told  some  few  people 

on  the  night  of  her  entertainment  that  she  was  leaving  town 

soon  ;  so  she  was,  their  part  of  it.     They  had  accepted  it, 

and  would  not  be  surprised  to  see  no  more  of  her  before  the 

winter ;  and  when  the  winter  came  they  would  not  be  very 

surprised  not  to  see  her  ;  they  were  all  busy  living,  they  had 

not  so  very  much  time  for  feeling.     They  might  miss  her 

perhaps  ;  a  few  might  ask  one  another  where  she  had  gone, 

13  193 


DESIRE 

and  when  she  was  coming  back,  but  in  a  little  while  the  gap 
she  had  left  would  close  as  does  a  gap  in  water.  Some 
would  remember  her — as  they  remembered  a  fashion  for  big 
sleeves  or  an  operatic  star  who  had  been  the  rage.  They 
would  be  pleased  to  see  her  back  when  or  if  she  came  ;  for 
the  rest,  she  had  gone,  and  no  one  is  indispensable.  She 
knew  that  quite  well,  she  herself  in  similar  circumstances 
would  likely  have  done  not  dissimilarly  ;  she  did  not  feel  in 
the  least  bitter  about  it,  but  she  understood. 

Vera  opened  the  door,  and,  having  by  now  satisfied 
her  curiosity  on  the  point  of  name,  announced,  "  Mr. 
Grimstone." 

Desire  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Oh  !  "  she  said,  "  I  am  glad 
to  see  you  !  " 

"  I'm  glad  I  came,"  Peter  answered.     He  did  not  in  the 
least  know  why  she  was  so  glad,  but  he  did  not  mistake  her 
sincerity.     "  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  simply. 
"  Nothing,"  she  answered. 

In  the  time  which  had  elapsed  since  she  last  saw  him  she 
had  forgotten  his  embarrassing  direct  way  of  looking.  It 
came  upon  her  with  almost  a  little  shock  now,  it  took  away 
some  of  her  self-possession  and  made  her  feel  that  she  would 
soon  be  telling  him  her  affairs,  as  she  had  not  told  any  one 
else.  Accordingly,  from  perversity  probably,  she  began  to 
talk  of  his,  asking  about  himself  and  his  work  with  her  usual 
eagerness. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  "  she  said.  "  How's  The 
Dreamer's  younger  brother.  It's  more  than  a  year  since  I 
have  heard  of  him.  A  whole  year  !  " 

Peter  did  not  remind  her  that  had  she  been  interested  to 
hear  she  could  have  written  to  ask.  He  had  not  expected 
her  to  write,  in  spite  of  the  curious  closeness  of  their  intimacy 
at  one  time.  He  did  not  expect  much  of  people,  so  he, 

194 


DESIRE 

unlike  most  who  knew  Desire  well,  was  never  hurt  or 
disappointed  by  any  of  her  rather  conspicuous  short-comings. 

"  The  Dreamer  has  no  younger  brother,"  he  told  her. 

"  No  ?     Is  the  second  book  not  finished  yet  ?  " 

"  It  never  will  be.     I  have  given  up  writing." 

"  But ,"  she  began  and  stopped,    conscious  anew  of 

the  difference  in  him,  conscious,  too,  that  he  arrived  at  his 
conclusions  a  different  way  from  what  she  arrived  at  hers  ; 
impressed  now,  as  she  had  not  been  a  year  ago,  that  there 
might  perhaps  be  more  in  his  way  than  hers  ;  "  Why,"  she 
asked,  "  why  have  you  given  up  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  no  good,"  he  said.  "  I  tried  on  and  off  for 
a  year,  or  nearly  a  year,  and  it  came  to  nothing ;  it  was  no 
use." 

c<  And  so  you  gave  up  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly  because  of  that,"  he  admitted.  "  My  father 
is  ill  and  I  have  his  work  as  well  as  my  own  to  do,  so  I 
could  not  do  anything  else  if  I  would.  But  it  does  not 
make  much  difference.  I  did  little  real  good  before  when  I 
had  the  opportunity — or,  at  least,  as  much  opportunity  as 
many  men.  So,  you  see,  either  way  the  thing  has  come  to 
an  end." 

She  nodded.  "  I  see,"  she  said,  but  she  was  not  really 
sure  of  it.  It  was  hard  to  realize  that  the  peculiar  ability, 
which  had  fought  its  slow,  persistent  way  out  before,  was 
gone  now,  killed  by  adverse  circumstances.  Rather  one 
would  think  it  in  abeyance,  working  unseen  in  the  dark, 
throttled,  perhaps  temporarily,  by  duty,  but  still  there,  as 
life  is  there  in  the  trees  that  die  outwardly  in  the  winter  and 
wait  to  be  recalled  by  the  spring.  For  the  first  time  Desire 
felt  that  there  was  something  about  Peter  which  reminded 
her  of  the  slow  inevitableness  and  ununderstandableness  of 
the  ways  of  nature. 

195 


DESIRE 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  failure,"  he  was  saying,  with  more 
apology  than  regret. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  ? "  she  speculated  ;  "  I  doubt  if  you 
are  in  a  position  to  judge,  and  I  am  sure  I  am  not." 

She  regarded  him  curiously,  chin  propped  on  hands  and 
eyes  studying  him  in  undisguised  fashion  ;  she  found  him 
much  harder  to  place  than  before. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  used  to  consider  that  you 
belonged  to  the-world-of-things-as-they-never-were,  but  I 

am  not  sure  now  that  I  was  right,  I'm  not  sure  it  isn't 

Oh,  well,  never  mind,  anyhow  it  is  not  the  old  world  I 
used  to  know,  or  the  new  one  I  am  trying  to.  That  is 
why  I  am  glad  it  is  you  and  not  any  one  else  who  came 
this  afternoon — why,  you  are  about  the  only  person  who 
could  have  come.  By  the  way,  why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  I  heard  you  were  in  trouble." 

"  How  did  you  hear  ? "  she  put  the  question  quickly. 

"  From  Austin,  a  man  I  used  to  know.  When  I  left 
London  last  year  he  gave  me  his  dog,  so  last  night,  after  I 
had  done  the  business  I  came  up  about,  I  went  to  see  him 
and  tell  him  the  dog  was  all  right.  He  told  me  of  your 
father's  death." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  anything  else  ? " 

"  No,  he  didn't  know  you  or  Lady  Quebell,  or  anything 
about  you,  more  than  just  that — which  I  might  have  seen 
in  the  papers  myself,  by  the  way,  only  I  didn't ;  I  don't  read 
them  much." 

Desire  nodded.  "Tell  me,"  she  inquired  with  some 
interest,  "  how  did  you  find  me  ? " 

"  I  went  to  the  house  where  you  used  to  live,  and  they 
told  me  you  were  gone,  but  that  Barton,  your  maid,  would 
know  your  address.  So  I  found  Barton." 

It  sounded  simple,  but  Desire  knew  it  really  would  not 

196 


DESIRE 

have  been  so  easy.  Barton,  at  last  convinced  that  her 
mistress  would  not  have  her  services,  had  fulfilled  an  off- 
and-on  engagement  of  long  standing,  and  was  married. 
The  ceremony  had  taken  place  about  a  week  ago,  and 
Desire  herself  did  not  know  where  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
were  at  present  to  be  found.  Parker,  to  whom  Peter  must 
have  applied  in  the  first  instance,  was  not  very  likely  to  be 
quite  sure  either.  However,  Peter  had  traced  them  quickly 
persuaded  the  woman  that  he  was  not  one  of  those  to  whom 
she  was  forbidden  to  give  her  mistress'  address,  and  here 
he  was. 

"Did  Barton  tell  you  anything  besides  my  address?" 
Desire  asked. 

She  had  not — Peter  was  not  the  kind  to  seek  information 
from  a  third  party.  "  She  said  a  letter  sent  here  would  find 
you,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I  thought  I  would  come  myself,  perhaps 
if  you  were  here  you  would  not  mind  me  coming.  You 
remember  we  made  a  pact  once,  that  you  could  say  what 
you  liked,  and  be  what  you  liked,  and  so  on  to  me,  and  if 
there  was  anything  I  could  do  I  would  do  it  without  bother- 
ing you  to  explain  why.  I  thought  perhaps  there  might  be 


something  for  me  to  do  now.     If  there  isn't- 


"  There  is- 


She  spoke  abruptly,  then  broke  off.  This  that  she  had 
called  the-world-of-things-as-they-never-were  was  a  strange 
world,  a  literal,  simple  world  ;  at  least  this  man  would  seem 
literally  to  mean  and  simply  do  what  he  said. 

"  There  is  something.  You  can  listen  to  me.  You  can 
let  me  tell  you  what  has  happened.  I  think  you  will 
understand." 

And  she  told,  as  once  before  she  had  told  him,  what  she 
had  not  told  another.  She  did  not  mind  his  knowing  of 
her  step-mother's  act  and  her  own  position,  it  was  possible 

197 


DESIRE 

and  natural  to  tell  him.  In  the-world-of-things-as-they- 
never-were,  the  world  from  whence  The  Dreamer  came, 
one  could,  curiously  enough,  state  truths  and  acknowledge 
bare  facts.  Of  course,  long  before  she  had  done  the  telling 
she  had  got  back  her  usual  composure  and  her  old  way,  and 
laughed  at  that  for  which  she  would  not  weep.  But  Peter 
understood,  and  because  he  did  he  made  no  obvious  com- 
ments, expressed  no  condemnatory  opinions  and  showed  no 
surprise. 

Once  he  did  ask,  "  Does  no  one  know  that  you  are 
here?" 

And  she  answered,  "  No  one  but  Barton,  and  she  promised 
not  to  betray  me,  and,  in  spite  of  your  evidence  to  the 
contrary,  I  believe  she  will  keep  her  word,  even  if  she  should 
be  asked  for  my  address,  which,  I  think,  is  very  unlikely  to 
happen." 

"  What  about  your  people  ? "  Peter  inquired. 

"I  haven't  any.  My  father's  people  are  not  my  people, 
and  such  as  they  are  I  don't  know  much  of  them,  nor  they 
of  me,  except  they  don't  approve  of  me  ;  they  are  not  likely 
to  be  concerned  about  me.  There  is  an  elderly  cousin,  a 
Miss  Phoebe  Quebell,  whose  sense  of  duty  may  some  day 
give  Lady  Quebell  a  bad  quarter-of-an-hour  ;  I  shouldn't  be 
surprised  if  it  did,  otherwise  nothing  will  happen.  Of  my 
mother's  people,  if  she  had  any  and  was  not  placed  similarly 
to  myself,  I  know  nothing." 

"  Your  friends  will  want  to  know  where  you  are,"  Peter 
said. 

She  shook  her  head.    "  You  don't  know  people,"  she  said. 

"  But  they  must  want  to  know  where  you  are,"  he  per- 
sisted ;  "  they  will  want  to  know  what  has  become  of  you." 

"  They  think  I  have  left  town  early,  and  later  they  will 
think  I  am  coming  back  late,  and  then  they  will  forget ;  a 

198 


DESIRE 

few,  with  a  thirst  for  information  and  a  taste  for  being  dis- 
agreeable, may  ask  Lady  Ouebell  about  me  when  she  reap- 
pears next  spring  ;  what  she  will  say  I  do  not  know,  but  I 
do  know  that  it  won't  in  the  least  matter  to  any  one." 

Peter  found  it  hard  to  believe  that  she  would  so  soon  be 
forgotten.  "  Did  you  say  good-bye  to  no  one  ? "  he  asked. 

"I  had  a  little  party,"  she  answered.  "I  made  each  one 
show  me  himself  at  the  best,  and  I  tried  to  show  myself  at 
the  best  to  them  all,  and  then  I  'slipit  awa'.'  I  hope  I  left  a 
pleasant  memory,  I  know  I  left  no  gap.  The  world's  so  busy 
with  amusing  live  people,  it  can't  be  bothered  with  the  dead 
— I'm  a  deader  now.  If  you  were  a  real  live  ordinary  man 
you  would  not  have  bothered  about  me,  and  I  would  not  let 
you,  but  being  as  you  are  " — her  voice  deepened  suddenly — 
"  you  are  here." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  Peter  asked.  "  I  mean,  do 
you  mind  telling  me  ? " 

"  Of  course  not,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  should  have  been 
disappointed  in  you  if  you  had  not  asked.  Oh,  cautious 
man  !  The  future  would  naturally  interest  you  as  much  as 
the  past ;  you  shall  have  it." 

And  forthwith  she  told  him  of  her  more  recent  doings 
and  immediate  plans. 

"Behold  me,"  so  she  concluded,  "an  embryo  clerk,  an 
expert  typist,  a  master,  or  at  least  on  the  way  to  being  one, 
of  the  mystery  of  book-keeping  by  double  entry.  In  Sep- 
tember I  get  me  a  situation — if  I  can.  I  am  told  on 
unimpeachable  authority  that  nothing  can  be  done  before, 
for  in  August  the  city  fathers  sun  themselves  by  the  sad  sea 
waves,  or  follow  the  giddy  golf  ball  for  the  furtherance  of 
their  figures." 

"  What  made  you  think  of  this  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  What  ?    The  devil  '  Needs  must,'  to  be  sure  ;  I  can't  do 

199 


DESIRE 

anything  else.  Listen  to  my  list  of  *  can'ts '  :  I  can't  teach, 
I  know  nothing  to  teach  that  I'm  aware  of ;  I  can't  paint, 
I  can't  draw,  sing,  write,  or  follow  any  other  art,  if  there 
be  any  ;  I  can  act  a  bit,  it  is  true,  dance  and  sing,  and  that 
sort  of  thing,  but  I'm  not  going  on  the  stage  even  if  I  could 
get  there,  which  is  unlikely.  One  sees  "there  too  much  of 
the  wrong  side  of  the  life  I  used  to  know  on  the  right ; 
besides,  I  always  had  such  a  gluttonous  appetite  for  amuse- 
ment, I  should  hate  to  have  to  work  at  making  it.  What 
other  professions  are  there  ? — ah  !  domestic  service.  I  can't 
cook,  so  I  can't  be  a  cook  ;  I  can't  be  a  maid,  I'm  too  untidy  ; 
besides,  I  should  have  conscientious  objections  to  lacing  fat 
women  into  tight  corsets,  and  helping  nice  old  grandmothers 
to  turn  their  silver  locks  gold.  Dressmaking  and  millinery  ?— 
my  friend,  I  can't  sew.  It's  humiliating  to  confess  it,  but 
I  can't  even  mend  my  own  stockings  ;  I've  tried  since  I've 
been  here,  but  I'd  be  ashamed  to  show  the  result.  I  called 
Vera  in  for  advice  once  ;  I  thought,  as  she  had  been  educated 
at  the  board  school,  she'd  be  sure  to  know  -y  she  didn't,  she 
was  worse  than  I.  I  am  seriously  thinking  of  walking  down 
the  side  street — there's  a  nice  one  here — and  spotting  some 
hopeful-looking  woman  and  asking  for  instructions.  I  simply 
dare  not  ask  the  girls  at  the  classes  I  attend,  though  I'm  sure 
some  of  them  know  ;  they  petrify  me  somehow,  especially 
when  they  talk  chiffons.  I  never  before  realized  how 
appallingly  ignorant  I  am." 

"  There  certainly  does  not  seem  much  left  for  you  to 
choose  from,"  Peter  admitted. 

"  There  isn't,"  she  answered.  "  Matrimony,  of  course. 
At  desperate  times  I  have  thought  of  that  desperate  remedy, 
and  if  I  could  marry  half-a-dozen  men  at  once  I  might 
perhaps  be  tempted  to  it.  But  one  alone  ! — to  put  up  with 
one  for  the  rest  of  one's  natural  life  !  It  would  be  too  boring." 

200 


DESIRE 

At  that  moment  Vera  bumped  against  the  door  with  the 
tea-tray,  and  followed  up  the  bump  with  a  noisy  entry.  She 
set  the  table  with  great  care,  covertly  glancing  at  Peter  as 
she  did  so.  She  did  not  think  highly  of  his  appearance,  but 
he  was  the  first  visitor  this  unusual  lady  lodger  had  had,  so 
he  deserved  some  attention. 

"  I  got  you  a  pot  of  bloater  paste,"  she  informed  Desire  in 
a  loud  whisper  ;  "  I  thought  you'd  like  something  with  your 
tea  as  you'd  got  comp'ny." 

"  Thank  you,"  Desire  answered  in  the  same  confidential 
tone.  She  would  not  for  the  world  have  destroyed  the  girl's 
illusion  of  gentility.  "  Thanks  awfully,  that's  capital." 

"  Mr.  Grimstone,"  she  said,  when  Vera  had  withdrawn, 
"  I  hope  you  like  bloater  paste  ;  you  have  got  to  eat  a  great 
deal." 

After  tea  the  fire  was  lit,  the  evening  had  turned  chilly, 
and  Desire's  economy  could  not  hold  out  against  the 
temptation  of  its  cheering  company.  For  a  while  they  sat 
in  silence,  watching  the  damp  wood  catch  and  the  sparks  fly 
up.  Suddenly  Desire  asked — 

"  Do  you  think  I  shall  do  any  good  with  this  sort  of 
thing  ?  Do  you  see  any  reason  why  I  should  fail  ?  " 

Peter  considered  a  moment  before  he  answered,  then — 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  I  see  no  sufficient  reason." 

"  The  students  at  the  classes  think  there  is,"  Desire  told 
him;  "it's  their  opinion  no  city  man  would  employ  me,  I 
believe,  because  I  am  not  the  right  sort,  whatever  that  is." 

"You  are  not  the  usual  sort,"  Peter  admitted,  "but  then 
you  could  hardly  be  usual  anywhere;  I  don't  see  that  that 
matters." 

"  It  can't,"  she  said  emphatically  ;  "  it  stands  to  reason 
that  the  only  thing  which  matters  is  whether  you  can  do 
what  you  undertake,  type  and  book-keep  and  so  on,  and  I'm 

201 


DESIRE 

not  an  utter  fool  at  that ;    you  can  examine  me  if   you 
like." 

Peter  declined.  He  had  no  doubt  she  knew  more  than  he 
did. 

For  a  little  Desire  sat  looking  at  the  slow  smoke  curling 
up ;  the  fire  was  but  feebly  burning,  making  a  poor  attempt 
to  brighten  the  gloomy  little  room.  The  shadow  in  her  eyes 
and  on  her  face  deepened  ;  for  once  it  seemed  that  her 
exuberant  vitality  had  dropped  low,  for  a  minute  she  let  slip 
even  a  pretence  of  her  usual  gay  pluck. 

"  I'm  a  poor  thing,"  she  said,  with  self-contempt ;  "  do 
you  know,  I  feel  sometimes  as  if  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  stand 
it !  It's  a  mercy  I'm  a  woman,  and  have  got  enough  sense 
to  know  I  must  stick  to  the  respectable  !  If  I  were  a  man 
I  should  not  stop  here  two  days.  I  should  sell  what  I  have 
and  go  off  somewhere,  the  high  seas  or  the  high  road — 
probably  the  high  road,  with  a  barrow.  I  believe  I  have 
got  a  taste  for  the  less  reputable  side  of  life.  Once  or  twice, 
when  I  have  got  very  desperate,  I  have  been  down  to  the 
side  street  after  dark,  and  stood  among  the  people  there,  and 
listened  to  them  bargaining  and  talking.  I  have  had  the 
greatest  ado  in  the  world  not  to  get  mixed  up  in  things.  I 
expect  I  shall  if  I  go  often.  It  is  the  awful  respectable 
monotony  that  I  can't  stand.  Week  in,  week  out,  the  same 
thing  ;  the  future  the  same,  the  way  the  same,  the  goal  the 
same  ;  the  more  successful  the  more  respectable,  the  more 
monotonous  the  more  successful.  Why,  respectable 

monotony  is  what   I   am  aiming  at !     It's   ghastly  ! 

She  broke  off,  then  laughed  :  "  I'm  a  weak  fool,  am  I  not  ? 
A  couple  of  months'  work,  and  I  am  sick  of  it !  " 

"  It  isn't  that,"  Peter  said. 

"  What  is  it,  then  ? "  she  asked.  "  You  ought  not  to  know 
anything  about  it,  yet  I  feel  as  if  you  did.  I  wonder  why  ? 

202 


DESIRE 

You  can  endure  monotony — look  at  the  long,  slow  work 
you  put  into  The  Dreamer,  look  at  your  throwing  up  your 
life  and  interests  in  town,  and  going  home.  Is  it  respectable 
monotony  there  ?  Do  you  sometimes  find  it  pretty  awful  ?  " 

"Sometimes,"  Peter  admitted,  then  added,  "But  there 
are  always  the  hills.  On  Sundays  I  go  to  the  hills." 

In  The  Dreamer  nature  had  played  a  curious  part,  not 
descriptive  or  exactly  obvious,  but  unconsciously  interwoven 
with  the  emotions  of  the  primitive  human  beings  of  the  tale. 
It  suddenly  occurred  to  Desire  now,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  began  to  understand  it. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  "  about  the  hills." 

He  hesitated.  There  did  not  seem  anything  exactly  that 
could  be  told,  and  yet,  because  she  asked  him,  and  because 
he  was  so  intensely  sorry  for  her,  he  tried  to  describe  to  her 
the  lonely  upward  path,  the  brown  hill-top,  and  the  refresh- 
ment that  was  there.  He  did  not  speak  well,  yet  better 
than  he  knew  ;  she  saw  it  plainly  as  she  listened,  and  saw, 
more  dimly,  what  it  was  to  him,  might  be  to  a  lonely  soul, 
and  her  eyes  grew  misty.  "If  only  I  had  hills,"  she  said  at 
last.  "  Oh,  Peter,  if  we  could  go  right  away  into  a  large, 
lonely  place  !  " 

She  had  never  called  him  by  his  Christian  name  before.  It 
came  naturally  now,  without  her  noticing  or  thinking.  If 
Peter  noticed  it,  which  is  possible,  he  did  not  reveal  the 
fact. 

"There  are  several  things  which  make  my  life  easier 
than  yours,"  he  said.  "  The  work  is  really  a  bit  interesting  ; 
at  first,  I  own,  I  couldn't  find  it  so,  but  now  I  do.  It 
begins,  too,  to  matter  to  me  to  make  good  jugs,  as  it  used  to 
matter  to  choose  the  right  words.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised 
if  after  a  time  it  got  to  be  the  only  thing  that  did  matter, 
that  and  similar  things." 

203 


DESIRE 

A  year  ago  she  would  have  enthusiastically  condemned 
such  a  thing  as  waste,  now  she  only  asked,  "Is  that  a 
pity?" 

cc  It  makes  it  easier,"  he  answered,  "  though  in  a  way  I 
suppose  it  is  a  pity  because,  when  it  has  gone,  there  will  be 
nothing  left." 

"  Do  you  expect  it  to  go  ? " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  It  is  a  fight  between  my 
brother  Alexander  and  me,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  make  a  fight, 
of  course,  but  I  am  afraid  the  end  is  sure." 

She  looked  up  with  interest,  momentarily  forgetting  her 
affairs  in  his.  "  You  like  a  fight,"  she  observed.  "  Oh,  you 
don't  know  that  you  do,  perhaps,  even,  you  think  you  don't, 
but  you  do ;  it's  that  which  really  gave  you  interest  in  the 
work,  I  believe.  I  should  like  to  be  there  when  you  and 
Alexander  close  for  the  last  grip  !  " 

"  I'm  not  sure  there  will  be  any  last  grip,"  Peter  told  her. 
"  I'm  not  sure  ;  indeed,  I'm  beginning  to  be  afraid  the  thing 
will  just  melt  away.  Maybe  Alexander  has  something  to 
do  with  the  melting,  I  don't  know  ;  I  don't  understand  how 
these  things  happen,  but  I  know  our  position  is  not  what  it 
used  to  be." 

Desire's  interest  increased.  ~"  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said  ; 
"and  tell  me  about  Alexander.  Have  you  seen  him  often 
since  you  have  been  back  ? " 

Peter  had  only  seen  him  once.  "  But  he  is  coming  to  live 
at  Twycross  this  autumn,"  he  said. 

"  Is  he  ?     Have  he  and  your  father  made  it  up,  then  ? " 

"  No  ;  my  father  is  ill,  as  I  told  you  ;  he  can  do  nothing 
either  way  now." 

"  He  can  do  nothing  ?  Now  I  understand  !  Of  course 
you  cannot  write.  Tell  me,  are  you  trying  to  do  his  work 
as  well  as  your  own  ?  " 

204 


DESIRE 

It  was  then  that  the  idea  came  to  Peter.  He  had  felt  all 
along  that  there  must  be  an  idea  somewhere,  though  he  did 
not  know  where  or  what.  Arriving  at  mental  things  was 
to  him  like  climbing  hills  ;  he  got  at  the  end  so  slowly,  and 
by  such  winding  and  unhandy  ways,  and  often  without  being 
able  to  see,  that,  when  it  was  reached,  it  seemed  almost 
sudden.  He  had  not  quite  reached  this  yet,  but  by  the  time 
Desire  had  finished  giving  her  opinion  he  had. 

"  You  ought  to  have  help,"  she  declared.  "  It  is  perfectly 
ridiculous  for  you  to  try  to  do  two  men's  work,  and  work 
with  which  you  are  not  very  familiar,  too.  It  must  handicap 
you  in  the  fight  with  Alexander." 

"  It  does,"  he  said  ;  "  it  makes  it  very  difficult.  I  do  want 
help  of  some  sort ;  I  believe  we  might  do  better,  at  least  for  a 
little  time,  if  I  had  some  one  to  do  the  business  part,  so  that  I 
was  free  to  manage  and  improve  the  mechanical.  My 
father  did  both  before  I  came,  but  he  was  a  cleverer  man 
than  I,  also  the  circumstances  were  not  quite  the  same.  If 
I  had  some  one  to  do  the  business — some  one  like — like  you." 

«  Like  me  ? " 

Peter  hesitated  a  second  ;  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to  suggest. 
The  idea  had  come  to  him  at  the  last  with  such  suddenness 
that  he  had  spoken  before  he  was  fully  aware  of  it ;  but  it 
still  was  the  idea. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  rather  awkwardly.  "  It  is  not  much  of  a 
job  certainly,  though  not  worse,  I  suppose,  than  some  city 
ones.  It  might  not  last  very  long,  but  of  course  if  it  was 
only  for  a  month  or  two  it  might  be  some  use  as  a  reference 
if  you  thought  of  going  on  with  this  sort  of  thing." 

It  was  not  very  clear  whether  he  was  making  an  offer  or 
merely  explaining  a  hypothetical  idea.  Desire  did  not  know  ; 
she  was  completely  astonished,  and  for  some  reason  moved. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  don't  think "  he  began  diffidently. 

205 


DESIRE 

"  I  think  you  are  the  most  extraordinary  person  alive," 
she  said.  "  Do  you  know,  since  you  have  been  here  you  have 
not  given  me  one  word  of  advice  ?  You  have  not  told  me 
I  have  made  a  great  mistake,  committed  rank  folly,  or  done 
everything  else  stupid  ;  you  have  not  suggested  any  panaceas 
of  your  own  ;  you  have  just  listened  to  my  plans  as  if  you 
thought  me  sane,  and  now  you  speak  as  if  you  thought  them 
sensible,  and  I  well  qualified  to  carry  them  out.  I  almost 
believe  you  would  help  me  with  them  !  " 

"  Any  one  would,  any  one  who  knew  you  wanted  help  ; 
you  must  remember  you  have  not  let  any  one  else  know 
that." 

Desire  laughed.  "I  know  them  and  you  don't,"  she 
assured  him  ;  "  some  of  them,  had  I  told  them  before  I  left, 
would  have  offered  me  help  of  sorts,  as  well  as  condolences ; 
some  women  would  have  asked  me  to  stay  with  them  awhile 
— *  till  things  blew  over  '  ;  some  men  would  have  offered  to 
marry  me,  or  lend  me  money,  or  something  of  that  sort. 
Not  one  of  them,  had  they  come  to  me  here  and  heard  what 
you  have,  would  have  seriously  entered  into  things,  con- 
sidering the  plan  as  if  it  were  their  own,  and  offered  to  help 
me  in  my  way,  not  theirs.  Without  doubt  you  do  belong  to 
the  world  of  things-as-they-never-were." 

u  I  don't,"  Peter  said  ;  "  you  are  quite  wrong.  But  per- 
haps you  consider  this  idea  belongs  to  that  world.  You 
think  it  impossible  ?  " 

Then  it  was  a  real  suggestion,  a  real  offer,  not  a  hypo- 
thetical idea.  She  might  have  known  Peter  better  than  to 
have  ever  thought  of  that. 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  let  you  do  it,"  she  said. 

«  Why  not  ? " 

"  Because  you  must  have  enough  on  your  hands  already." 

"  Too  much  ;  I  want  help,"  he  told  her. 

206 


DESIRE 

And  when  she  laughed  he  asked,  "  Do  you  think  you 
could  not  do  what  is  wanted  ?  You  must  have  a  very 
erroneous  idea  of  Grimstones',  I'm  afraid  ;  even  if  you 
were  just  an  ordinary  woman  clerk  you  would  be  too  good 
for  the  job.  The  only  thing  which  might  make  it  tolerable 
to  you  is  that  it  would  not  be  quite  the  usual  routine,  and 
it  would  be  away,  near  the  hills.  As  to  the  work — quantity 
and  quality,  too — why,  I  could  do  it  myself  if  I  were  not 
a  fool  at  business  details.  I  am  that,  you  know ;  the 
technical  part  I  am  beginning  to  understand,  it  interests 
me,  too  ;  the  other " 

"  Does  not,"  she  concluded  for  him  ;  "  but  it  would  me. 
And  if  I  were  to  come  and  bring  the  typewriter — business 
letters  should  always  be  typed,  and  I'm  sure  your  father 
never  had  one,  he  wrote  the  letters  himself  as  the  Merchant 
Princes  did — I'd  manage  all  the  business  part  as  soon  as  I 
could  get  the  hang  of  it.  I  really  believe  I  could  in  time 
do  that,  for  though  I'm  an  idiot  my  father  was  a  genius  : 
I've  inherited  a  few  of  his  characteristics.  You'd  be  free 
to  give  all  your  time  to  the  other  part,  and  then  we'd  see 
where  Alexander  came  in." 

Her  spirits  had  risen  under  the  stimulus  of  her  imagination, 
she  was  once  more  the  virile  creature  that  never  dreamed  of 
failure  and  never  failed.  But  Peter,  reluctant  though  he 
was  to  do  it,  felt  bound  to  chill  her  anticipations. 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you,"  he  said,  "  that  we  may  go  to  pieces 
rather  soon — I  mean,  even  in  spite  of  your  efforts.  You  see, 
there  has  not  for  some  time  been  much  capital  in  the  firm, 
there  is  very  little  indeed  now,  but  our  credit  has  always 
been  good,  until  lately.  Lately,  for  some  reason,  it  has 
been  shaken  ;  various  people,  who  in  the  ordinary  way  would 
have  been  prepared  to  wait,  are  talking  about  their  accounts 
and  pressing  for  settlements.  We  can't  meet  them,  not 

207 


DESIRE 

all  at  once,  we  shall  have  to  arrange  something,  I  don't 
know  what,  but  whatever  it  is  it  can't  but  be  to  our  dis- 
advantage, and  we  can't  stand  much  of  that.  It  is  the  chance 
Alexander  could  make  good  use  of." 

"  Then,"  Desire  said,  "  I  suppose,  one  may  guess  he 
helped  to  bring  it  about  ? " 

Peter  did  not  know.  "  He  might  have  done  it,  of  course," 
he  said  ;  "  but  it  equally  might  have  arisen  from  my  father's 
disablement,  and  the  fact,  which  must  be  known,  that  I'm 
not  much  good.  Certainly  Alexander  told  me  in  the  spring 
that  I  should  want  his  help." 

"  That's  the  last  thing  you  want,"  Desire  said  emphati- 
cally; "  my  help  would  be  better  than  that.  I  believe  I  must 
come — that  is  if  your  mother  won't  mind.  Do  you  think 
she'll  mind  me  mixing  myself  up  in  affairs  ? " 

"Of  course  not."     Peter  was  surprised  at  the  idea. 

"  Oh,  well,  some  women  would,"  Desire  told  him;  "  but 

if  you  think  she  won't I  wonder  if  she  would?    I  wonder 

if  I  ought  to  come  ? — if  the  help  I  might  be  would  outweigh 
the  nuisance  I  should  certainly  be.  You  haven't  got  to  go 
just  yet,  have  you  ?  What  time  does  your  train  leave 
Euston  ?  Oh,  you  can  spare  a  while  longer  then.  Tell 
me  all  you  can  about  your  business  and  let  me  see  if  I  can 
really  be  any  good." 

He  obeyed  her,  and  told  what  he  could,  and  she  listened 
and  asked  questions,  showing  him  almost  entirely  the  man 
side  of  her  versatile  self.  There  was  very  decidedly  a  man 
side  to  her,  a  man  with  some  of  the  great  financial  adviser's 
characteristics,  shrewd,  far-seeing,  accurate  in  perception  of 
essentials, with  ajudgmentfor  mass  ratherthan  detail:  a  person 
who  brought  the  ways  of  the  big  world  to  the  problems  of 
Grimstones',  and  saw  them  in  quite  another  light  from  what 
Peter  did. 

208 


DESIRE 

"  Yes,"  she  said  at  last ;  "  I  really  do  believe  I  could  do 
some  good — any  person,  forgive  me,  but  it's  true — any  person 
with  average  common-sense  could." 

"  I  told  you  I  was  a  fool,"  Peter  reminded  her. 

"  You  are  awkwardly  placed,"  she  said,  "  though  I  own  it 
does  not  appear  that  your  genius  lies  this  way.  Well,  will 
you  have  me  to  help  you  ?  If  you  will,  as  it  seems  I  might 
be  a  teeny  wee  bit  of  use,  I'll  come — till  your  mother 
insists  on  me  being  turned  out." 

"  She  will  never  do  that — but " 

"  But  ?     Another  but  ?     Do  you  retract  ?  " 

"  No,  only  I  am  not  sure  you  will  like  it,  the  life,  I  mean; 
it  is  very  different  from  anything  you  are  used  to." 

"  Bless  the  man  !  Isn't  that  the  best  reason  in  the  world 
for  my  liking  it  ?  " 

"  It  will  strike  you  as  monotonous  and  narrow,"  he  warned 
her. 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? "  she  demanded.  "  I  don't 
know  what  would  strike  me  that  way,  and  I  certainly  don't 
believe  you  do.  Look  here,  if  you  are  sorry  you  asked  me, 
and  think  I'll  interfere  too  much,  and  all  the  rest,  I  won't 
come.  It'll  be  all  right ;  I'll  just  say  'no  thanks.'  " 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  he  said;  "  for  myself  nothing  could  be 
better,  but  for  you " 

"  Well,  what  about  me  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  while  it  lasted  it  might  be  better  than  this," 
Peter  said  doubtfully,  looking  round  the  gloomy  little 
room. 

"  I  think  it  might,  too,"  she  answered. 

He  rose  to  go,  for  it  was  growing  late  :  she  rose,  too. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  earnest  deepening 
of  her  voice,  "  that  I  don't  know  it  is  because  of  that  you 
asked  me  ?  It  was  for  me  you  thought,  you  and  your  busi- 
14  209 


DESIRE 

ness  are  just  an  accident,  an  afterthought.  I  know  that ;  I 
have  known  it  all  along,  though  I  have  behaved  rather  hate- 
fully to  you.  I  have  to  behave  rather  hatefully  sometimes  or 
else — or  else  I  believe  I  should  cry.  You'd  be  sorry  if  I  was 
to  do  that." 

"I  should,"  Peter  said  hastily;  "please  don't.  There 
isn't  any  reason  ;  I  don't  see  why  on  earth  you  should." 

<c  Of  course  you  don't,"  Desire  returned  ;  "  there  isn't  any 
reason  ;  people  don't  cry  for  reasons.  You'll  miss  your  train 
if  you  don't  go,  and  then  your  mother  will  begin  to  find  out 
the  tryingness  of  having  anything  to  do  with  what  my  step- 
mother called  '  the  most  impossible  person  in  London.' ' 


210 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DESIRE  was  enthroned  in  the  office  at  Grimstones' — 
that  small  room  at  the  back  of  the  house  where  the  last 
Ezra  had  fallen  beneath  the  stroke,  and  the  first  Ezra,  in 
portrait,  looked  down  with  fierce  dark  eyes  and  fuller  and 
more  sensitive  lips  than  any  other  Grimstone  had  shown  till 
Peter,  the  inefficient,  came  upon  the  scene.  It  was  the 
painted  lips  which  prevented  Desire  from  feeling  she  was 
intruding  here,  she  believed  in  her  heart  she  would  have  got 
on  with  the  first  Ezra.  She  did  not  feel  she  was  intruding, 
nor  had  she  any  thought  of  being  incongruous.  She  was 
rather,  of  course,  though  she  had  already  partly  fitted  the 
place  to  herself.  She  had  not  been  there  quite  a  week  yet, 
but  already  the  old  precise  appearance  was  gone  from  the 
high  desk  ;  the  right  to  smoke  here  had  also  been  conceded, 
and  a  rule  of  having  the  window  open  at  the  bottom  so 
that  the  person  inside  could,  if  desirous,  call  to  the  person  in 
the  yard,  had  been  established.  In  the  sunless  room,  where 
the  routine  of  years  had  settled  like  dust,  there  blew  a  breath 
from  outside  ;  and  a  vivid  woman,  with  the  scent  of  carna- 
tions exhaling  from  her  silk  shirt,  plied  a  typewriter  with 
capable  hands  where  Ezra  Grimstone  had  worked  in  silence 
and  solitary  bitterness. 

No  wonder  old  Robert,  who  felt  himself  as  much  part  of 
the  house  and  works  as  if  he  were  the  stones  the  one  was 
built  of,  or  the  name  the  other  was  known  by — no  wonder 
he  combated  the  idea  of  such  an  intrusion.  All  thought  of 
innovation  was  painful  to  him,  typewriters  and  outside  help 

211 


DESIRE 

especially  ;  as  for  women  clerks,  the  which  he  knew  were 
employed  in  plenty  in  the  pottery  towns  lying  near,  such 
were  clean  against  all  tradition.  Therefore  his  opposition 
at  the  outset  was  fierce.  But  when  the  idea  became  a  fact, 
and  Desire  was  here,  his  feelings  underwent  something  of  a 
change.  He  was  a  servant,  and  he  came  of  generations  of 
servants,  and,  with  the  odd  survival  of  the  feudal  spirit  still 
now  and  then  to  be  found  in  England,  he  recognized  Desire 
as  one  who  belonged  by  divine  right  to  the  ruling  class  ; 
one  who,  no  matter  how  far  fate  or  choice  might  remove 
her  from  that  estate,  still  is  served  as  a  matter  of  course  and 
a  matter  of  choice  by  the  other  half  of  the  world.  Of  course 
she  had  no  business  in  Grimstones'  ;  still,  since  she  had 
chosen  to  come,  Robert  accepted  her  and  put  up  with  her, 
as  stokers  might  a  princess  who  chose  to  visit  their  stokehole 
and  ask  about  the  work  they  did  there.  He  never  for  a 
moment  regarded  her  as  a  woman  clerk  ;  he  never,  even 
after  experience  of  her  capacity,  exactly  regarded  her  as  a 
woman  of  business.  At  first  he  looked  upon  her  as  a  sort 
of  visitor  whose  questions  he  answered  and  to  whom  he 
gave  information  because  of  the  afore-mentioned  right. 
Later  he  discovered  her  ability,  and  also,  it  must  be 
admitted,  rather  fell  under  the  spell  she  not  all  unconsciously 
cast.  She  flattered  him  by  asking  information  of  him,  not 
Peter,  of  whose  ability  he  not  unnaturally  shared  his  old 
master's  somewhat  low  opinion.  She  also  pleased  him  by 
her  interest  in  the  little  firm  and  the  old  ways  of  doing 
business,  and  by  asking  his  advice  on  all  sorts  of  subjects  on 
which  she  did  not  want  it.  By  the  end  of  the  first  week 
he  was  already  half  her  ally.  Seeing  that  this  was  now 
Saturday  and  she  had  only  arrived  on  Monday  night,  she 
should  have  been  satisfied  with  her  progress.  Possibly  she 
was  ;  but  if  so  she  was  celebrating  the  fact  by  having  a 

212 


DESIRE 

difference  of  opinion  with  Peter,  who  had  begun  by  giving 
her  the  freest  of  free  hands. 

She  sat  now  at  the  high  desk,  a  bundle  of  papers  in  her 
hands,  watching,  while  Peter  to  satisfy  himself,  not  her, 
looked  up  some  entries  in  a  big  book. 

"  I  don't  see  what's  the  good  of  hunting  up  the  details," 
she  said ;  "  the  fact  remains,  the  account  is  substantially 
correct,  and  it's  got  to  be  met  if  we  are  to  keep  our  end  up, 
I  mean,  keep  our  credit,  or  whatever  you  call  it." 

Peter  was  only  too  well  aware  of  this,  for  the  subject 
under  discussion  was  the  demands  for  payment  he  had  men- 
tioned to  her  when  he  first  suggested  she  should  come  here. 
But  he  was  also  only  too  well  aware  of  the  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  payment. 

"  I'm  afraid  we  shall  have  to  find  some  other  solution  of 
the  difficulty,"  he  said  ;  "  at  all  events,  we  can't  meet  them 
all,  not  all  at  once." 

"  We've  got  to,"  she  repeated,  "  to  steady  our  position, 
also  to  show  off  to  Alexander." 

Peter's  eyes  darkened  at  the  mention  of  Alexander.  His 
feeling  here  was  something  quite  different  from  what  Desire 
had  encountered  before,  it  interested  her  and  chilled  her  too, 
it  was  so  cold,  such  a  quiet,  inside,  unalterable  thing,  it  gave 
her  a  new  and  rather  painful  idea  of  the  permanency  of 
human  feeling.  Peter  did  not  know  for  certain  whether  he 
was  indebted  to  Alexander  for  this  recent  shaking  of  the 
firm's  credit,  but  he  believed  it.  Desire  was  ready  to 
believe  with  him,  and  to  her  it  was  a  dishonest  and  dirty 
action,  she  could  not  understand  or  accept  it  as  he  did. 

"Of  course  we  could  borrow  from  Alexander,"  Peter 
said,  "  at  a  high  rate,  and  on  the  security  of  an  interest  in 
the  concern — but  I'm  not  going  to  do  it." 

"  Certainly  not !  " 

213 


DESIRE 

"  In  any  other  way  money  is  not  very  easily  raised.  Or 
ready  money  I  have  myself  about  ^70,  I  got  it  from  my 
publishers  when  I  was  in  town,  fortunately  I  got  nothing  in 
advance  when  The  Dreamer  was  published,  so  there  was  some 
to  come  to  me ;  but  that's  all  I  have,  and  we  want  at  least 
^500  more  than  I  can  touch  to  see  us  through.  As  for 
borrowing  of  some  one  else " 

"  It  can  be  borrowed  from  me  !  "  Desire  cried.  "  If  it's 
only  ^500  I'm  the  man  ! " 

She  pulled  a  cheque-book  from  one  of  the  two  capacious 
pockets  which  had  been  recently  added  to  the  front  of  her 
skirt. 

"  You  !  "  Peter  exclaimed.     u  That  is  impossible  !  " 

"Don't  be  rude,"  she  retorted,  "it's  nothing  of  the  kind. 
I  have  a  balance  at  the  bank  at  the  present.  Oh,  I  hadn't 
when  you  saw  me  in  town,  that's  quite  true,  I  was  reduced 
to  counting  the  change  for  a  shilling — so  wholesome  and 
so  unpleasant.  But  I've  sold  my  string  of  pearls  since 
then—  — " 

"  Your  pearls  ? "  Peter's  voice  expressed  something  near 
consternation. 

"  Bless  the  man  ! "  Desire  said,  "  one  would  think  I'd 
sold  my  skin  !  What  do  I  want  with  pearls  ?  What 
chance  have  I  of  wearing  them  while  my  complexion's 
good  enough  to  justify  it  ?  If  I  ever  do  have  the  chance, 
and  am  in  circumstances  to  want  them,  I  haven't  the  least 
doubt  I  shall  be  in  circumstances  to  get  more  j  they  are  not 
the  only  ones  in  the  world,  you  know." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  sold  them,"  Peter  said  gravely. 

"  I  most  decidedly  ought,"  she  returned,  "  it's  extremely 
bad  business  to  keep  all  that  capital  locked  up.  I  knew  I 
should  want  money  to  invest  in  something  if  I  came  down 
here  and  got  interested  in  money-making.  Besides,  I  did 

214 


DESIRE 

enjoy  selling  them,  it  was  worth  it  for  that  alone — the  one 
decent  interlude  in  that  mouldy  exile.  I  had  quite  a  good 
time  selling  those  pearls,  and  one  of  the  best  glasses  of  old 
cognac  I  have  ever  tasted." 

Peter  gave  it  up,  he  knew  that  she  was  speaking  no  more 
than  the  truth.  "I  expect  you  know  your  own  business 
best,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  it  was  better  to  sell  them,  no 
doubt  the  money  is  more  use  to  you  than  the  pearls.  But 
you  can't  lend  it  to  me." 

"  Certainly  not.  I'm  going  to  invest  it  in  Grimstones'. 
Five  per  cent,  interest,  your  note  of  hand,  and  all  that  sort  or 
thing.  Security — an  unlimited  capacity  to  interfere  with 
the  show." 

"  You  can't  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  Peter  said.  "  Invest 
your  money  in  something  sensible  if  you  like,  but  as  for 
this " 

"It's  the  most  sensible  thing  I  know.  Oh,  it  wouldn't 
be  if  you  were  running  it,  I  grant  you  that.  But,  my  friend, 
I  am  !  I  am  here  to  look  after  my  own  interests.  Now  do 
you  observe  the  beauty  of  it  ? " 

Peter  did  not,  and  he  said  so  emphatically. 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that,"  Desire  said,  "  because  it  would 
make  you  easier  if  you  saw  the  beauty,  and  it  would  be  nicer 
if  you  were  easy,  as  I'm  going  to  do  it  anyhow.  If  I  can't 
do  it  any  other  way  I  can  pay  the  people  with  my  cheque 
instead  of  yours  ;  of  course  they  would  think  they  had  found 
out  you  were  being  backed,  and  who  it  was,  which  is  rather 
a  pity,  otherwise  there  is  no  inconvenience  in  it.  I  can  help 
myself  to  my  interest  when  the  time  comes  without  troubling 
you." 

"It  is  altogether  impossible,"  Peter  said.  "You  must 
not  do  it." 

"  I  must,  and  I  shall,"  she  replied,  "  and  you  can't  prevent 

215 


DESIRE 

me.  Didn't  I  tell  you  you'd  be  sorry  you  let  me  in  before 
long?" 

"  I'm  not  sorry.     It's  for  your  own  sake " 

"Poof!  My  sake  !  What's  ^500  to  make  all  this  fuss 
about  ?  Why,  if  I  lost  it,  what  is  it  ?  Also,  I'm  not  going 
to  lose  it,  I'm  going  to  make  a  coup — I  and  Robert,"  the  old 
man  had  entered  at  that  moment,  and  she  greeted  him  with 
a  radiant  smile.  "  It's  just  as  well  you've  come,"  she  said, 
"  Mr.  Peter  really  does  not  understand  business.  I  want  to 
clear  up  these  accounts,  and  we  can't  agree  as  to  how  it  is  to 
be  done.  Tell  me,  am  I  at  liberty  to  play  the  unjust  steward 
a  bit  ?  Clearly  these  good  people  don't  much  expect  to  get 
their  money,  which  is  very  rude  of  them — don't  you  think 
by  way  of  punishment  we  might  knock  a  little  off  each  bill  ? 
They'll  be  so  frightfully  pleased  to  get  anything  they  won't 
fuss  about  not  getting  all.  And  when  afterwards  they  find 
out  every  one's  been  paid  they  will  observe  our  credit  has 
been  good  all  the  time,  better  than  ever,  and  feel  awfully 
sold." 

Thus  Desire  addressed  herself  to  work,  and  Peter,  not 
convinced  but  unable  to  help  himself,  gave  way.  The 
£500  was  invested  in  Grimstones',  and  Peter  inly  registered 
the  interest  on  it  as  the  debt  the  firm  must  pay  before  all 
others  and  under  all  conditions,  until  such  time  as  it  was 
possible  to  refund  the  principal. 

But  though  in  the  office  Desire  was  an  independent  and 
somewhat  turbulent  element,  not  readily  conforming  to 
all  old  ways,  outside  she  conformed  in  a  surprising  manner 
to  the  totally  new  life  and  ways  j  more,  she  liked  them, 
almost  hungrily  and  eagerly  liked  them.  She  lived  in  the 
house  at  present.  She  had  thought  of  rooms  in  the  town  at 
first  j  but  the  town  was  a  long  way  off,  and  rooms  not  easy 
to  get.  Also,  she  quickly  realized  that  to  deal  properly  with 
Grimstones'  you  needed  to  live  with  it,  as  the  founder  and 

216 


DESIRE 

his  successors  had  ;  she  was  anxious  enough  to  do  so  on  her 
own  account,  but  she  was  not  sure  of  the  other  members  of 
the  household.  But  it  seemed  no  other  idea  had  ever 
entered  their  heads,  to  both  Peter  and  Mrs.  Grimstone 
it  was  a  matter  of  course  that  she  should  live  with  them. 
So  it  came  about  that  she  did  so,  telling  herself  the  while 
that  if  it  did  not  answer  she  could  always  go  ;  but  at  the 
same  time  curiously  grateful  to  them  for  expecting  her,  for 
making  her  one  with  themselves — a  thing  she  somehow  felt 
to  be  rare  with  them. 

It  was  only  last  Monday  she  came,  in  a  wet  August 
twilight  when  the  grey  house  looked  curiously,  yet  restfully, 
lonely  among  the  grey  hills.  A  silent  house,  she  found  it, 
with  the  reposeful  silence  of  deep  water  ;  reserved  too,  it 
felt  to  her,  yet  not  gloomy,  in  spite  of  the  prisoned  life  of 
the  disabled  master.  Essentially  a  place  where  men  lived  and 
died,  not  merely  ate  and  slept ;  where  they  worked  at  their 
allotted  task,  where  things  befell  with  the  slow  precision, 
the  inevitableness  of  nature.  She  had  dreaded  respectable 
monotony,  it  never  once  occurred  to  her  to  think  of  this  as 
such  ;  to  her  there  seemed  a  spirit  informing  this,  a  feeling 
of  a  past  behind,  a  future — not  necessarily  a  good  one, 
but  a  real  one — before.  It  was  alive,  in  a  still,  shut-in, 
yet  intense  way  new  to  her,  alive  and  something  that 
mattered.  The  very  routine  of  the  life  appealed  to  her 
in  some  odd  fashion.  The  orderly  way  in  which  things 
befell,  as  they  had  befallen  for  many  years,  pleased  her  in 
spite  of  her  not  very  orderly  characteristics,  and  she  at  once 
unconsciously  fell  into  line  with  it  as  much  as  she  could, 
disliking  her  own  unpunctuality  as  she  would  have  disliked 
picnic  papers  in  a  wood.  As,  on  the  night  of  her  arrival, 
she  stood  in  the  large  white  room  allotted  to  her,  she  had 
felt  it  must  always  be  tidy.  And  throughout  the  week  it 
had  been  so  tidy — and  with  comparatively  little  effort  on 

217 


DESIRE 

her  part,  too — that  Barton  would  hardly  have  known  it  for 
hers. 

It  is  questionable  if  before  she  came  any  one  had  speculated 
at  all  as  to  what  position  she  was  to  occupy  in  the  house. 
She  herself  seldom  thought  about  such  things,  and  unconsci- 
ously and  at  once  she  slipped  into  a  position  which  had  long 
wanted  filling — the  position  of  a  species  of  daughter  to  Mrs. 
Grimstone.  Rather  an  unusual  daughter,  perhaps,  but  then 
she  was  rather  an  unusual  person.  Not  that  Mrs.  Grimstone 
found  it  out,  she  put  down  all  the  surprisingness  she  found 
in  Desire  to  her  own  ignorance. 

From  the  very  beginning  Desire's  heart  went  out  to  Mrs. 
Grimstone.  There  was  something  in  the  simple  old  lady 
which  touched  her  hitherto-undeveloped  sense  of  veneration  ; 
something  in  the  welcome  to  herself  and  quiet  acceptance  of 
her  which  roused  her  sense  of  gratitude  curiously.  Desire, 
not  readily  given  to  loving  her  own  sex,  felt  at  once  that  she 
could  love  Mrs.  Grimstone  with  a  love  part  maternal,  part 
filial,  entirely  willing  to  serve.  So,  from  almost  the  outset, 
she  had  taken  her  position,  a  daughter  who  gave  a  deference 
that  sat  quaintly  yet  becomingly  on  a  woman  of  her  size 
and  distinction  ;  one  who  paid  a  hundred  small  attentions 
and  services,  such  as  are  not  always  rendered  by  daughters 
now-a-days,  and  which  Mrs.  Grimstone  found  new  and 
pleasant,  but  very  surprising.  Desire,  who  had  always  had 
almost  more  of  the  service,  attention  and  dues  of  woman- 
hood than  she  wanted,  found  the  surprise  and  gratitude 
pathetic  and  almost  humiliating.  To  her  it  suggested  a 
somewhat  bare  and  hard  life  when  so  little  could  be  counted 
for  so  much  ;  few  people  in  the  past  could  have  been 
attentive  to  Mrs.  Grimstone  if  she  thought  so  much  of  this. 
Peter  was  good  to  her.  Desire,  sharply  critical  on  the 
point,  admitted  it,  but  it  was  with  a  different  kind  of 
goodness,  a  sacrifice  so  complete  that  the  old  lady  never 

218 


DESIRE 

recognized  it  as  such.  The  things  which  she  lacked,  and 
presumably  had  always  lacked,  were  the  thousand  small 
amenities  which  had  been  to  Desire  as  matter  of  course  and 
unobserved  as  the  air  she  breathed,  and  the  man  in  her  was 
roused  to  pay  them,  as  the  woman  in  her  was  roused  by 
something  else  in  Mrs.  Grimstone. 

On  the  first  Sunday  after  Desire  arrived  she  accompanied 
Mrs.  Grimstone  to  chapel.  It  was  rather  a  bare  chapel  and 
not  very  large,  but  too  large  now  for  the  congregation. 
The  Dissenters  of  Twycross  were  not  so  numerous  as  they 
used  to  be,  less  because  of  any  increase  in  the  church 
following  than  because  religion  was  not  the  important 
factor  it  used  to  be,  especially  with  the  young  people. 
Those  who  attended  the  chapel  now  were  mostly  elderly, 
the  heads  of  families  or  the  remains  of  them,  old  men  or 
widows  or  the  unmarried  daughters  left  at  home.  Desire 
was  quickly  conscious  of  the  decay  which  had  come  upon 
the  place  and  felt  sorry  for  it,  and  moved  to  a  sympathetic 
attention  and  support.  Mr.  Williams,  not  used  to  the 
glowing  and  obvious  attention  that  day  bestowed  on  his 
discourse,  may  perhaps  be  forgiven  for  rather  misunderstand- 
ing its  cause,  and  thinking  that  his  almost-forgotten  dream 
of  stirring  and  touching  a  congregation's  heart  was  near 
fulfilment.  Many  men,  of  a  vast  deal  wider  experience, 
had  made  not  dissimilar  mistakes  with  Desire. 

The  congregation  no  doubt  found  Desire  rather  interest- 
ing, but  they  would  the  rare  advent  of  any  stranger.  She 
did  not  puzzle  them  as  she  would  a  more  sophisticated 
gathering  ;  in  Twycross  they  hardly  knew  enough  of  the 
world  to  know  she  was  of  it ;  and  the  majority  knew  so 
little  of  the  Grimstones,  who  were  outside  the  life  of  the 
town,  as  to  know  and  care  little  of  or  for  their  doings.  The 
Harveys  waited  outside  after  chapel  to  say  a  few  words  to 
Mrs.  Grimstone,  to  ask  after  her  husband,  and  to  hear 

219 


DESIRE 

Desire's  name.  Otherwise  no  one  spoke  to  them  until  they 
had  gone  some  little  way  up  the  sunny  road,  when  Mr. 
Williams  caught  up  to  them.  He  did  so  ostensively  to 
congratulate  Mrs.  Grimstone  on  the  news  he  had  recently 
heard  that  Alexander  and  his  wife  were  about  to  come  and 
settle  in  Twycross. 

To  Mrs.  Grimstone  this  was  hardly  a  matter  of  con- 
gratulation ;  in  spite  of  her  wish  to  see  her  granddaughter, 
she  could  not  but  feel  that  to  have  the  household  near  under 
the  present  circumstances  must  be  distressing.  There  was 
no  possibility  of  reconciliation  between  father  and  son  now, 
the  time  for  that  was  past ;  indeed,  Alexander  had  helped 
to  make  it  so,  for  his  father's  present  state  was  largely  owing 
to  him  and  his  visit  in  the  spring.  Mrs.  Grimstone,  though 
she  never  spoke  of  it,  was  aware  of  this,  and  aware,  too,  that 
it  would  not  be  consideration  for  his  father's  state  or  desire 
to  make  amends  which  brought  Alexander  to  Twycross. 
Mr.  Williams,  no  doubt,  thought  it  was ;  he  also  thought — 
and  said — that  she  must  be  pleased  for  family  breaches  to  be 
healed,  and  to  have  the  support  of  her  elder  son's  near 
neighbourhood.  She  answered  him  briefly,  and  with  some 
little  distress  of  manner  ;  Desire  wondered  how  the  good 
man  escaped  perceiving  it,  but  he  did. 

"  They  come  at  the  end  of  the  month,  I've  heard,"  he  said, 
"  to  the  River  House  ?  That  is  a  long  way  from  you,  nearly 
two  miles  it  must  be  ;  you  could  wish  them  nearer.  But  no 
doubt  you  are  thankful  to  have  them  at  all,  to  have  them 
and  their  little  children — there  is  a  family,  is  there  not  ? " 

"  One  little  girl,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  answered ;  "  there 
were  two,  the  other  one  died  in  the  spring,  after  whooping- 
cough." 

The  subject  was  so  tender  a  one  with  Mrs.  Grimstone 
and  the  good  Mr.  Williams  so  unlikely,  in  Desire's  opinion, 
to  deal  suitably  with  it,  that  she  came  to  the  rescue.  Con- 

220 


DESIRE 

sequently  the  conversation  soon  reached  the  sermon,  the 
bourne  she  was  perfectly  well  aware  the  preacher  had  all 
along  wanted  it  to  reach.  On  that  subject  she  talked  with 
him  till  they  reached  the  place  where  a  road,  by  which  he 
could  return  to  his  house,  branched  off  from  the  one  they 
must  follow ;  and  though  the  talk  dispelled  Mr.  Williams' 
momentary  dream  of  the  nature  of  his  hearer  and  her 
interest,  it  still  left  him  in  a  pleasant  glow.  When  he 
parted  from  her,  dismissed  courteously  but  frankly  and  in 
a  way  unknown  here,  he  had  a  feeling  all  over  him  as  if  he 
had  drunk  a  glass  of  good  wine,  or  stood  in  the  warmth  of 
a  pleasant  sun — an  effect  which  he  afterwards  characterized, 
rightly,  as  "  strange,  very  strange." 

Desire  and  Mrs.  Grimstone  went  on  up  the  hill  alone  ;  Mrs. 
Grimstone  went  very  slowly,  she  was  a  good  deal  upset  by  the 
mention  of  Alexander's  coming  and  by  the  revived  memory 
of  the  dead  child  she  had  never  seen.  Desire  knew  it  and  said 
nothing,  only  accommodated  her  pace  to  the  older  woman's. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  dreadful  creep,"  Mrs.  Grimstone 
apologized  once,  pausing  for  breath. 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Desire,  "  especially  in  hot  weather." 

She  took  off  Mrs.  Grimstone's  mantle  and  carried  it  the 
rest  of  the  way. 

"  Not  take  it  off  ? "  she  said,  when  the  wearer  protested. 
"  Why  not,  vain  lady  ?  Do  you  think  you  don't  look  so 
nice  without  it  ?  Fancy  sacrificing  your  feelings  to  your 
appearance  !  Besides,  you  look  nice  anyhow,  and  you  know 
it.  Oh,  you  don't  think  I  ought  to  carry  it  ?  Is  that  it  ? 
Well,  I'll  promise  not  to  drop  it  in  the  dust,  and  for  the  rest 
— what's  the  good  of  lusty  young  women  like  me  if  they  are 
never  to  do  anything  for  folks  like  you,  who  have  spent  all 
their  lives  doing  for  other  people  ?  " 

So  they  went  slowly  on  their  way,  and  when  the  top  of 
the  hill  was  reached  and  they  were  on  the  lonely  white  road 

221 


DESIRE 

which  ran  past  the  house  Mrs.  Grimstone  began  to  talk  of 
the  dead  child.  And  Desire  listened,  sympathetic,  wholly 
pitiful,  yet  wondering  if  anywhere  in  her  heart  there  could 
be  dormant  a  similar  feeling  which  similar  circumstances,  or 
any  circumstances,  could  arouse. 

Peter  had  spent  the  morning  with  his  father — he  frequently 
did  so  on  Sundays.  To  Desire  one  of  the  strangest  things 
in  the  household  was  the  place  the  disabled  man  had  in  it. 
He  was  not  thrust  away  and  ignored,  the  attendance  on  him 
a  necessary  evil  to  be  rendered  and  deplored,  or  heroically 
borne  and  not  mentioned  by  those  who  must  perform  it  ; 
nor  yet  was  he  and  his  affliction  an  overwhelming,  gloomy 
burden,  darkening  all  life  and  always  before  all  eyes.  It  was 
more  like  the  place  Death  has  in  some  of  the  finest  Renais- 
sance conceptions,  just  a  fact.  A  solemn  fact,  perhaps,  but 
not  an  extraordinary  one  ;  one  having  its  share  in  life  not 
morbidly  insisted  upon,  nor  morbidly  hidden  ;  neither  obscur- 
ing life  by  its  sorrow,  nor  obscured  by  life's  joy.  To  Desire 
the  attitude  was  new  and  somewhat  beautiful  too,  so  essenti- 
ally sane  and  true.  She  searched  for  its  origin  and  found  it 
in  Peter,  and  at  first  was  surprised  and  afterwards  not,  it  was 
completely  unconscious  and  quite  natural  to  him. 

This  Sunday  at  the  Grimstones'  was  very  unlike  any 
Sundays  Desire  had  previously  known.  It  was  a  fast-day 
rather  than  a  feast-day,  so  as  to  save  the  servants  work ;  it 
was  almost  Puritanical  in  its  aloofness  from  the  rest  of  the 
week,  yet  she  liked  it.  She  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  cold 
dinner  with  its  absence  of  service  ;  she  wanted  herself  to 
clear  the  table  afterwards,  till  it  was  explained  to  her  that 
Mary,  who  had  an  etiquette  of  her  own,  would  be  offended 
thereby.  So  she  turned  her  attention  to  selecting  a  suitable 
book  for  Mrs.  Grimstone  to  doze  over  in  her  husband's  room, 
and  then,  as  Robert  was  not  back  from  chapel,  went  out  to 
look  at  the  oven  fires. 

222 


DESIRE 

Peter  followed  her,  so  did  Paddy.  The  dog  had  estab- 
lished himself  as  a  privileged  inmate  of  the  house  during  the 
past  week.  He  had  ventured  in  and  out  ever  since  Ezra's 
last  illness,  but  somewhat  surreptitiously.  Since  Desire's 
coming  he  had  done  it  boldly,  he  had  recognized  her  as  an 
ally.  When  she  went  out  to  the  ovens  after  dinner  he  looked 
wistfully  from  her  to  Peter,  but  when  it  was  evident  Peter 
was  going  too  he  was  clearly  satisfied. 

Desire  was  not  quite  satisfied.  "  Do  you  think  I  can't 
stoke  ?  "  she  asked. 

Peter  was  sure  she  could,  and  handed  her  the  shovel. 
Whereupon  she  stoked  with  great  vigour  and  satisfaction, 
and  failed  quite  to  fasten  the  oven  door  after. 

Beyond  the  ovens  there  was  a  disused  shed  ;  an  old  bench 
stood  there  near  the  doorway,  and  on  it  were  lying  some 
papers.  They  were  covered  in  the  white  dust  which  of 
necessity  accumulated  fast  on  everything  ;  but  Desire,  pass- 
ing out  that  way,  saw  that  they  were  drawings,  the  design 
for  some  machine.  She  paused  to  examine  them. 

"  What  are  these  ?  "  she  said. 

Peter  had  stayed  to  fasten  the  oven  doors.  "  Those  ? " 
he  said.  "  Only  some  designs,  nothing.  At  least  I'm  afraid 
they  are  nothing." 

"  Your  designs  ? " 

She  took  them  up  and  examined  them.  "  I  don't  under- 
stand," she  said  ;  w  is  it  a  machine  for  doing  something  to 
plates  ?  This  looks  like  a  press — but  you  don't  use  a  press 
in  plate  making,  at  least  you  don't  here." 

"  No,"  Peter  said,  "  nor  anywhere  else  either.  It  never  has 
been  used.  I  just  drew  this  to  my  own  idea,  I  don't  know 
that  it  would  really  work — theoretically  it  should.  The 
idea  has  been  in  my  head  for  months,  grinding  round  slowly? 
as  things  do,  till  it  got  evolved  so  far  as  this." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  she  said,  and  sat  down  on  the  bench. 

223 


DESIRE 

u  Fin  afraid  there  isn't  much  to  tell,**  he  answered,  "  only 
that  I  saw,  as  any  one  who  looked  at  pottery  remains  and 
things  in  museums  must  see,  that  pressure  has  a  great  effect 
on  days.  Such  an  effect  that  in  some  few  cases,  where  the 
clays  are  suitable  and  the  pressure  suitable,  it  brings  a 
shininess,  almost  like  a  glaze,  to  the  surface.1* 

"  And  you  have  designed  a  machine  to  press  plates  to  that 
extent,  so  that — I  see,  I  see  the  idea — so  that  they  as  it  were 
glaze  themselves,  and  don't  have  to  be  dipped  in  a  glaze 
preparation  as  they  are  now !  " 

a  I  rdon't  know  that  I  have  exactly  done  that."  Peter 
never  considered  that  he  had  done  a  thing  which  could  be 
spoken  of  till  it  was  an  accomplished  physical  fact — at  which 
stage  of  affairs,  it  must  be  admitted,  it  had  rather  a  tendency 
to  cease  interesting  him. 

Desire,  however,  was  different ;  in  her  own  mind  she  was 
already  applying  the  designed  press.  "  Surely,"  she  said,  "  it  is 
a  thing  much  wanted  !  It  would  be  a  considerable  saving. 
You'd  do  away  with  the  dipping  entirely.  Would  you  do 
away  with  the  firing,  too  ? " 

u  Not  the  second  firing,  but  perhaps  the  first." 

She  asked  him  how.  She  had  during  the  past  week 
watched  the  process  of  manufacture  with  her  usual  enthusi- 
astic attention,  and  she  knew  enough  of  the  mechanical  part 
now  to  follow  an  explanation  roughly. 

"  Supposing,"  he  said,  a  this  were  a  real  thing,  and  not 
just  an  idea,  it  would  be  like  this — The  clay  would  be 
mixed,  but  used  dry,  instead  of  wet  as  now.  Oh  yes,  that  can 
be  done,  I  have  tried  it.  Nearly  every  potter  has  a  different 
way  of  mixing  clay.  I  have  tried  lots,  it  is  the  only  way  to 
discover  what  is  best ;  besides,  it  is  interesting.  I  have  found 
that  it  could  be  used  dry  if  one  could  design  a  press  suitable 
for  pressing  it  into  shape.  And  if  one  did  that  there  would 
be  no  need  for  the  first  firing,  the  biscuit  fire ;  the  ware 

224 


DESIRE 

could  be  glazed  and  fired  in  the  second  firing,  right  away  at 
once.  I  am  practically  certain  this  could  be  done ;  what  I 
am  not  so  sure  about  is  the  self-producing  glaze." 

"But,"  Desire  exclaimed,  "surely  that  does  not  matter 
much.  If  you  could  do  this,  use  the  clay  dry,  I  mean,  and 
do  without  the  first  firing,  the  saving  would  be  such  that  you 
need  hardly  bother  about  the  other  ;  why,  time  and  cost,  too, 
would  be  reduced  almost  by  half  ?  We  could  turn  out  plates 
and  dishes  as  no  one  else  in  the  kingdom  could  !  Cups  and 
jugs  could  not  be  made  that  way,  I  suppose,  they  are  the 
wrong  shape  j  but  that  would  not  matter,  we  could  make  a 
speciality  of  plates — fortunately  you  already  seem  to  do  more 
in  them  than  in  anything  else.  We  may  make  a  fortune 
yet !  " 

Peter  had  not  gone  into  the  question  of  cost  and  saving ; 
he  was  quite  ready  to  admit  the  possibility  of  some  of  what 
she  said,  but  clearly  his  own  interest  was  in  the  other  matter, 
the  part  she  had  set  aside  as  of  negligible  importance.  "  It 
ought  to  be  possible,"  he  said,  with  thoughtful  eyes  on  the 
design  ;  "  it  ought  to  be  possible  to  mix  the  clay  so  that  a 
glaze  is  self-formed  in  suitable  circumstances.  Possibly  the 
addition  of  some  glaze  ingredients  might  do  it.  They  should 
come  to  the  surface  on  pressure,  that  is  the  line  on  which  I 
have  been  working." 

He  turned  the  drawings  over,  and  Desire  saw  on  the  back 
his  notes.  She  perceived  also  that  he  had  gone  much  further 
into  the  subject  than  his  words  would  lead  one  to  suppose  ; 
but  at  the  same  time  she  perceived  that  his  interest  was 
more  really  in  the  speculative  than  the  practical  side.  He 
had  gone  into  it  somewhat  as  he  had  written  The  Dreamer. 
Suddenly  she  began  to  understand.  He  had  done  both 
because  an  idea  was  in  him,  vague  but  strong,  because  it 
had  gradually  taken  possession  of  him  and  had  had  to  come 
out  and  be  unravelled  slowly.  It  was  his  way  to  do  things 
15  225 


DESIRE 

so,  and  it  was  the  doing  that  mattered,  not  the  thing  or  the 
turning  of  it  to  pecuniary  account ;  and  his  gift  was  the 
ability  to  work  this  way — it  might  as  well  be  applied  to  one 
thing  as  another.  He  was  not  a  novelist  or  an  inventor 
really,  he  was  a  man  who  could  see  things  clearly,  and  from 
a  long  way  off  puzzle  his  way  to  them  in  time,  and  then 
slowly  build  up  a  fabric  to  the  vision-seen  pattern.  A 
constructor,  as  she  herself  had  called  him  in  careless  speech  ; 
he  did  construct,  and  his  powers,  halted  in  one  direction,  had 
naturally  and  inevitably  found  themselves  another. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  all  about  it  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  touch  of 
humility. 

"  Does  it  interest  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

And  when  she  told  him  with  unmistakable  sincerity  that 
it  did,  he  explained  what  he  could.  He  made  clear  to  her, 
not  only  his  experiments  and  the  methods  of  his  designs,  but 
also  what  heretofore  had  not  been  so  clear  to  himself,  the 
possibility  of  the  thing  being  used  on  a  working  scale. 

"  Why ! "  she  exclaimed  at  last,  "  don't  you  see,  if 
you  had  the  machine  you  could  begin  work  with  it  to- 
morrow ?  You  could  turn  out  plates — loads  of  plates,  crates 
of  plates  ! " 

Peter  considered  a  moment.  "  I  almost  think  you  are 
right,"  he  said. 

"  Almost !  "  She  laughed  at  the  uncertainty  of  his  tone. 
"  You  will  not  easily  be  foresworn,  oh,  Cautious  One  !  If 
this  thing  is  possible,  practical,  perfect  on  a  small  scale  it  is 
on  a  large  !  " 

"  I  don't  believe  the  idea  of  a  large  scale  application  had 
really  come  to  me  yet,"  Peter  confessed. 

"  No,"  she  returned ;  "  but  it  would  in  time,  though 
it  might  have  been  a  long  time.  That's  your  method. 
You're  a  builder  up,  a  very  slow  builder,  but  one  who 
builds  rather  remarkable  things,  whether  they  are  novels  or 

226 


DESIRE 

plate  machines.  It's  odd,  it  never  struck  me  you'd  do  these 
sort  of  things — though,  after  all,  I  suppose  there  is  no  real 
reason  why  genius  shouldn't  come  out  another  way  when 
its  first  way  is  stopped  up." 

"  Do  you  call  this  genius  ?  "  Peter  laughed.  "  Why, 
it's  what  any  average  foreman  in  a  pottery  could  do  ;  it's 
only  seeing  what  any  one  might  see  and  deducing  from  it, 
and  doing  it  uncommonly  slowly  too." 

Desire  nodded.  "Just  so,"  she  said,  "seeing  and  pro- 
ducing or  seeing  and  reproducing — all  art's  that,  and  most 
science,  and  most  other  things  that  are  worth  having.  My 
friend,  your  inability  to  observe  the  common  facts  of  life 
is  as  astonishing  as  your  ability  to  arrive  at  much  more 
wonderful  things  by  some  inside  process  of  your  own. 
But  this  is  beside  the  point ;  let  us,  as  Mr.  Williams 
would  say,  return  to  the  fruitful  subject  of  our  present  con- 
sideration, which  is,  or  should  be — the  putting  of  ideas  on  a 
working  scale,  and  in  this,  it  would  seem,  the  common 
brain  is  a  useful  asset.  It's  really  rather  a  good  thing  you've 
got  me.  If  we  had  that  machine  we  could  begin  turning 
out  plates  to-morrow.  If  we  had  it  next  week  or  next 
month  we  could  begin  turning  them  out  then.  Clearly  the 
thing  to  be  done  is  to  have  the  machine  made  as  quickly  as 
possible — made  in  pieces  at  different  places,  so  that  no  one 
gets  the  whole  idea — two  places,  or  at  the  most  three,  would 
do,  I  should  think,  and  the  pieces  could  be  stuck  together  on 
the  premises.  You  and  I  and  a  fat-headed  local  blacksmith 
ought  to  be  able  to  get  it  together  with  the  aid  of  the 
drawings,  some  bad  language,  arid  infinite  patience.  It  will 
be  a  bother,  but  cheaper  than  patenting  it  and,  I  fancy, 
safer  in  our  circumstances.  The  question  is,  where  shall  we 
get  the  bits  made  ? " 

"  The  question,"  Peter  corrected,  "  is  how  can  the  bits 
be  paid  for  ?  And  the  answer,  I'm  afraid,  is — Nohow." 

227 


DESIRE 

"The  answer — make  a  grimace,  you  won't  like  it — " 
she  made  one  for  him — "  is  pearls  !  " 

"  It  isn't  anything  of  the  sort,  that  is  out  of  the  question." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  You  have  already  spent " 

Desire  laughed.  "  Not  all  they  fetched.  Remember  there 
were  quite  a  good  lot  of  them,  and  I  drove  a  bargain,  a 
hard  bargain  ;  they  fetched  more  than  five  hundred  pounds." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  their  value,"  Peter  said, 
"  it  isn't  that  I  mean — you  see,  you — you  have  nothing " 

"  Nothing  ?  "  Desire  interrupted.  "  Eight  bracelets,  three 
diamond  stars,  these  earrings — "  she  took  one  of  the  pearls 
from  her  ears  and  held  it  up  against  the  other,  turning,  so 
that  he  might  see.  "They  match,  do  you  see,  match 
perfectly.  They're  worth  a  lot  of  money.  There  are  some 
other  things  too,  not  to  mention  that.'  my  face  is  my  fortune ' 
— '  a  poor  thing,  but  my  own  ! ' ' 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  Peter  said  ;  "  you  have 
already  spent  .£500." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I've  invested  it  in  Grimstones',  and 
I'm  going  to  invest  some  more." 

But  with  Peter  this  way  of  expressing  it  meant  nothing. 
"  It's  good  of  you  to  put  it  like  that,"  he  said  ;  "  like  you. 
But  it  doesn't  really  make  any  difference  to  the  thing." 

It  did  not,  really.  She  knew  suddenly  that  it  was  the 
feeling,  not  the  fact,  that  Peter  was  talking  about,  and  was 
conscious  of  it  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else  ;  phrasing 
did  not  matter  much  to  one  who  was  concerned  with  things 
as  they  are,  not  as  they  look.  §he  felt  half  angry  and  half 
afraid — in  a  way  discovered. 

"  Does  it  ever  strike  you,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  a 
greedy  beast  ?  All  the  obligations  must  be  on  one  side  with 
you  ?  You  have  always  been  putting  me  under  obligations 

228 


DESIRE 

ever  since  I've  known  you,  piling  up  the  debt  by  first  one 
service,  then  another,  and  now  that  there's  a  chance  of  my 
supplying  a  few  pounds  for  a  thing  wanted  by  me  as  well  as 
you — you  won't  accept  it.  It's  just  touchy  vanity  and 
gluttony  !  " 

"  I  have  already  accepted "  Peter  began,  but  she 

interrupted. 

"  No,  you  haven't,  don't  flatter  yourself  you  did  anything 
so  gracious  ;  that's  an  investment  and  made  against  your  will. 
You  could  have  got  the  money  outside  if  you  had  tried,  at 
a  higher  rate  I  dare  say,  because  no  outsider  would  have  had 
such  good  security  as  I  give  myself.  This  is  different,  I 
own  j  it  isn't  an  investment  ;  it  will  pay  me  in  the  long  run, 
of  course,  but  that's  not  the  reason  why  I  want  to  do  it,  it 
has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  want  to — because  I  want  to, 
because  I  believe  in  the  thing  and  in  you — because  you  are, 
you " 

She  broke  off,  finding  the  explanation  difficult.  "  Won't 
you  let  me  ? "  she  asked,  with  a  shy  softening  of  the  voice 
and  a  little  appealing  movement  of  the  hands. 

Peter's  eyes  darkened  suddenly,  then  glowed.  For  an 
instant  a  feeling  came  upon  Desire,  a  feeling  that  he  would 
take  the  hand  and  kiss  it — so  strong  was  it  that  she  almost 
felt  the  touch  of  his  lips.  But  he  did  not,  he  grasped  the 
drawings  tight  with  his  own  hands  and  accepted  her  offer  in 
a  word  or  two  words,  she  did  not  know  which,  then  went 
out. 

And  she,  left  alone,  stood  a  moment  where  she  was,  the 
colour  ridiculously  flushing  her  cheeks.  She  was  glad  he 
had  not  done  it,  glad  he  was  still  Peter  of  the-world-of- 
things-as-they-never-are  j  angry,  too,  that  she  had  imagined 
it — at  least 


229 


CHAPTER   XV 

MR.  DODD  of  Grimstones'  sat  in  the  office.  Mr.  Dodd 
was  the  traveller,  the  only  one  the  firm  possessed,  but  an 
exceedingly  good  one,  too  good  for  his  work,  A  small, 
blithe  person,  possessed  of  one  thing  no  one  else  in  the  firm 
possessed — a  great  respect  for  Peter — not  as  a  man  of  business 
but  as  a  writer.  Mr.  Dodd  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  poets, 
especially  the  sentimental  ones  ;  Peter  was  not  a  poet,  but  as 
a  fiction  writer  he  ranked  next  in  the  little  man's  estimation, 
and  so,  business  apart,  he  was  seen  in  a  sort  of  inky  halo 
which  at  times  helped  to  reconcile  the  seer  to  things  otherwise 
unsatisfactory. 

Mr.  Dodd  had  made  formal  acquaintance  with  Desire  on 
one  of  his  periodical  visits  to  the  works.  He  had  been  rather 
overwhelmed  by  her,  and  described  her  afterwards  as  "  a  high 
stepper  "  and  "  a  regular  toff"."  He  always  addressed  her  as 
"  Miss,"  and  obviously  felt  awkward  and  ill  at  ease  in  her  too 
impressive  company.  This  September  morning  he  was 
making  her  further  acquaintance,  in  his  business  capacity. 
He  did  not  find  it  easy  to  talk  business  to  her,  he  kept 
feeling  she  was  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  counter  somehow ; 
the  feeling  was  further  complicated  by  the  disconcerting  way 
the  shadows  in  her  hair  glowed  and  the  manner  in  which 
her  thick  white  neck  curved — at  least  he  found  these  things 
disconcerting,  especially  when  his  straying  eye  was  caught 
by  hers. 

Desire  herself  felt  the  interview  was  not  progressing  as 

230 


DESIRE 

it  ought.  She  did  not  understand  Dodd,  and  thought  him 
rather  an  odd  little  man,  till,  quite  by  chance,  a  sympathetic 
chord  was  struck.  Then  straightway  she  forgot  all  about 
his  oddness,  and  he  forgot  the  counter. 

Dodd  was  referring  to  some  incident.  "It  was  when  I 
was  down  Pringdale  way,"  he  said. 

"  Pringdale  ?  "  Desire  said.  "  I  didn't  know  you  worked 
so  far  down  as  that." 

Dodd  turned  red.  "  I  don't,"  he  confessed  ;  "  not  usually  ; 
it  wasn't  exactly  in  the  way  of  business  I  went  there  ;  there 
are  some  dorgs  I  know — there  was  a  match " 

He  spoke  awkwardly  and  apologetically,  but  he  need  not 
have  apologized.  Desire's  eyes  were  alight.  Sport,  even  this 
humble  form,  appealed  to  one  of  the  man  instincts  in  her 
nature.  In  less  than  five  minutes  they  were  talking  like  old 
friends.  Dodd  was  telling  about  dogs,  wonderful  dogs  ;  he 
was  describing  matches,  giving  the  points  of  the  competitors 
and,  with  veneration,  the  names  of  the  owners.  She  was 
immensely  interested,  and  soon  there  was  between  them  the 
fraternity,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  equality,  that  sport 
alone  can  bring.  She  offered  him  a  cigarette,  and  he 
smoked  it  unconcernedly  in  her  presence  as  he  spoke  with 
authority  of  what  he  understood.  When  at  last  they 
returned  to  business  he  talked  with  a  freedom  and  ease  not 
before  possible. 

"  It's  a  blackguard  trick  !  "  he  said  then.  "  A  dam  dirty 
trick,  but  some  one's  doing  it.  There's  an  exact  copy  of  our 
dinner  ware  being  put  on  the  market  at  a  price  under  ours. 
I've  seen  some  of  the  stuff,  and  I  could  hardly  tell  it  from 
ours." 

"  Who  is  doing  it  ?  "  Desire  asked.  "  Alexander  Grim- 
stone  ?  " 

Dodd  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  He  don't  manufacture 

231 


DESIRE 

himself,"  he  said ;  "  still,  he  could  get  it  made  for  him  when 
once  he'd  got  our  patterns." 

Desire  leaned  out  of  the  window  and  called  Peter. 
"  Wait  a  minute,"  she  said  to  Dodd  j  "  Mr.  Grimstone  had 
better  hear  this." 

"  It  sounds  like  Alexander,"  she  told  Peter  when  he  came. 
"  Go  on,  Mr.  Dodd,  tell  us  all  about  it." 

Dodd  did  as  requested,  at  the  end  Desire  looked  across  at 
Peter. 

"  If  it  is  Alexander,"  she  said,  "  he  can't  make  much  out 
of  it  j  he  would  have  to  pay  for  the  making,  a  good  price, 
too,  for  a  job  of  that  sort — and  then  sell  under  our  price." 

"  Immediate  profit  is  not  necessarily  his  object,"  Peter  said. 

And  Desire,  remembering  the  credit  incident,  was  forced 
to  admit  it. 

u  Where  did  you  see  the  things  ?  "  Peter  asked  Dodd,  and, 
when  he  heard,  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  Old  customers.  He 
has  a  good  memory  ;  it  is  more  than  nine  years  since  he  left, 
but  he  has  remembered  the  old  people  ;  he'll  make  a  bid  for 
the  list  of  the  newer  names  before  long." 

Dodd  breathed  hard.  "  I  wish  he'd  make  it  to  me,  sir," 
he  said. 

"  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  you  had  your  wish,"  Peter 
told  him.  "Who  are  making  for  him,  do  you  know  ?  " 

Dodd  was  not  sure  but  fancied  it  was  one  of  two  firms. 

"  Can  you  find  out  ?     Do,  if  you  can,  and  let  me  know." 

He  could  easily  ascertain,  Dodd  said,  and  then  began  to 
speak  of  the  damage  already  done  and  likely  to  be  done,  but 
Peter  interrupted.  "  We'll  manufacture  for  him,"  he  said  ; 
"  get  me  the  name  of  the  makers,  Dodd,  and  I'll  offer  to 
make  for  them  under  the  price  they  are  doing  for  him." 

But  Dodd  looked  doubtful.  "  Can't  be  done,  anyhow  to 
pay,"  he  said  ;  "  you'd  have  to  cut  it  too  fine." 

232 


DESIRE 

"  The  hollow  ware,  yes,"  Peter  said  ;  "  we'd  have  to  lose 
on  that,  but  we  ought  to  be  able  to  make  up  on  the  flat, 
plates  and  things." 

Desire  fancied  so,  too  ;  the  pieces  of  the  new  machine 
which  should  make  it  possible  were  already  on  order.  Dodd 
knew  nothing  of  this  and  he  was  still  doubtful. 

"  You'll  have  to  cut  a  good  bit  under,  sir,"  he  warned  ; 
"  they  neither  of  'em  are  the  sort  to  give  up  a  job  of  that 
kind  unless  the  butter  lies  that  side." 

"  That'll  be  all  right,"  Desire  said  gaily ;  "  we'll  do  it. 
Mr.  Grimstone  is  Works  Manager  and  I'm  Business 
Manager,  and  we  will  manage,  you'll  see." 

"  Oh,"  Dodd  said,  with  the  look  of  one  suddenly 
enlightened,  "  you're  Business  Manager,  miss  ?  That's 
another  pair  of  shoes.  Of  course  it'll  run  through  then,  as 
easy  as  winking." 

Desire  laughed,  the  utter  sincerity  of  the  tribute  left  her 
no  alternative.  "  You  think  I  mostly  run  things  through 
when  I  start  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  believe  I  do  ;  people  find  me  such 
a  nuisance  otherwise.  I  do  unless  it  is  too  long  an  effort — 
a  monotonous  strain — then  Mr.  Grimstone  comes  to  the 
rescue." 

Her  voice  dropped  curiously  at  the  last  words,  she  was 
remembering  the  grey  days  at  the  Commercial  College.  To 
Dodd  the  drop  was  a  new  fascination,  he  forgot  for  the 
moment  to  explain  that  he  meant  no  pottery  or  other  man- 
managed  institution  would  refuse  her  anything.  Before  he 
had  recollected  it  she  offered  him  a  hand  in  farewell,  a  strong, 
warm  hand,  larger  than  his  own,  and  with  a  grasp  which  he 
said  "  made  a  fellow  feel  queer."  The  curl  above  her  neck, 
and  the  curve  of  the  neck  itself  just  below  the  ear — by  Jove  ! 
a  fellow  would  remember  them  a  long  time — they  also  might 
make  him  feel  queer.  Dodd,  outside,  straightened  up  and 

233 


DESIRE 

almost  physically  steadied  himself  as  if  he  had  had  a  long 
and  very  exciting  drink.  His  opinion  of  Peter  had  gone  up. 
"  A  man  who  keeps  his  head  with  that  at  his  elbow  could 
keep  it  in  a  '  'change  panic,'  was  the  opinion  he  took  to  the 
railway  station. 

A  little  later  that  same  day  he  met  Alexander  Grimstone  ; 
it  was  in  the  pottery  town  where  Alexander's  business  lay. 
The  meeting  was  a  chance  one,  but  apparently  Alexander 
was  glad  of  it,  for  he  crossed  the  road  to  speak  to  Dodd. 

"  The  man  I  want,"  he  said.  "  I  rather  wanted  a  word 
with  you.  Got  any  time  on  your  hands  ?  " 

Dodd  had,  and  as  he  expressed  compliance  they  went  into 
a  quiet  bar  together. 

It  did  not  take  Alexander  long  to  come  to  his  business. 
"  I  was  wondering  if  you  knew  of  a  man,"  he  said  ;  "  I  rather 
want  one — or  shall  soon  ;  a  brisk  fellow,  who  knows  the 
trade  and  his  way  about,  one  who's  in  the  business — some  one 
like  yourself'd  do." 

Dodd  acknowledged  the  compliment  and  mentioned  one 
or  two  names. 

None,  however,  met  Alexander's  requirements,  he  had 
something  against  each.  "  Won't  do,"  he  said  ;  "  not  good 
enough  for  my  money.  What  about  yourself,  are  you  open 
to  a  job  ?  " 

"  No,  thanks,"  Dodd  replied  ;  "  I'm  still  with  the  old 
firm." 

"  I  don't  know  that  that's  much  credit  to  you,"  Alexander 
observed  dryly  ;  "  still  they're  hanging  on,  I  hear,  that's 
something,  seeing  the  old  man's  laid  by." 

"  They're  likely  to  hang  on  my  time,"  was  Dodd's 
opinion. 

"  Think  so  ?  So  much  the  better  for  me  some  day. — 
Here's  luck  to  'em."  Alexander  drank  the  toast.  "  There 

234 


DESIRE 

were  some  queer  rumours  about  them  in  the  summer,"  he 
said,  "  but  they've  blown  over,  nothing  in  'em,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  Dodd  answered  ;  he  had  very  little  knowledge, 
none  at  first  hand,  on  the  subject.  He  also  knew  few  details 
of  the  disagreement  between  the  Grimstone  brothers,  the 
justice  of  Peter's  suspicions  of  Alexander,  or  the  truth  or 
otherwise  of  Alexander's  insinuation  that  he  would  eventually 
have  an  interest  in  the  old  firm.  But  he  knew  on  which 
side  Miss  Quebell  was,  and  that  is  the  sort  of  knowledge 
which  experience  shows  us  has  a  tendency  to  bias  a  man's 
judgment. 

There  was,  however,  only  one  bias  Alexander  Grimstone 
understood.  "  It  can't  pay  you ;  their  work  isn't  up  to  your 
standard  now." 

Dodd  replied  that  it  was  well  enough  though  he  would 
not  mind  an  improvement  both  in  work  and  salary. 

Alexander  laughed.  "  Won't  get  it  there,"  he  said  ; 
"  better  chuck  it  before  it  chucks  you.  It'll  come  to  that 
sooner  or  later,  you  know,  since  the  old  man's  been  laid  by 
things  have  gone.  You  don't  think  so  ?  What  ?  You 
believe  in  Peter  ? " 

Dodd  thought  of  the  woman  who  had  stood  at  Peter 
Grimstone's  elbow,  whose  eyes  had  flashed  and  questioned  and 
shone  for  him,  the  scent  of  whose  clothing  must  always  be 
in  his  nostrils,  and  he  said,  with  emphatic  conviction,  "  I've 
a  great  opinion  of  him." 

Alexander  laughed  again  but  said  he  was  glad  to  hear  it. 
But  the  gladness  did  not  prevent  him  from  reiterating  his 
advice  as  to  leaving.  "You're  too  good  for  their  work,"  he 
said  ;  "  a  cheaper  man  would  suit  them  as  well,  and  a  bigger 
job  and  bigger  screw  suit  you  a  deal  better  ;  my  advice 
is — chuck  it." 

"  And  come  to  you  ?  "  Dodd  asked. 
235 


DESIRE 

"  If  you  like,"  Alexander  answered  carelessly,  but  he  had 
the  glasses  refilled. 

Dodd  coughed,  he  was  not  much  of  an  actor  and  he  had 
some  ado  to  hide  his  feelings. 

"  What'd  you  pay  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Oh,  we  wouldn't  quarrel  about  that,"  Alexander 
answqred. 

But  Dodd  wanted  particulars  and  in  time  he  got  them,  or 
as  near  to  them  as  Alexander  would  go — and  the  magnitude 
of  the  offer  almost  broke  down  his  self-control. 

"  That's  for  something  more  than  my  services,  I  suppose  ?  " 
he  said,  with  overdone  slyness. 

Alexander  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  What  you  remember, 
you  remember,"  he  said  ;  "  anything  you  remember " 

"  In  the  way  of  connection  and  names,  and  so  on  ? " 

Alexander  moved  impatiently.  "  You're  not  a  fool,  Dodd," 
he  said. 

"  No,  nor  a  knave  either,"  Dodd  burst  out.  "  You  think 
I'm  a  blooming  rat,  Mr.  Alexander  Grimstone,  that's  what 
you  think,  and  Grimstones'  is  a  sinking  ship  !  Well,  you're 
in  error ;  I'm  not  a  rat,  and  if  I  was  I'd  have  more  sense  than 
to  desert  what's  not  sinking." 

But  Alexander,  who  was  by  no  means  over-sensitive  to 
such  outbursts,  merely  laughed.  "  Started  a  conscience  ?  " 
he  said.  "  Looks  as  if  it  were  young  and  pretty  foolish,  too." 

"  You  let  my  conscience  alone  and  I'll  let  yours,"  Dodd 
retorted,  and  muttered  something  about  the  latter  not  being 
difficult  to  do. 

Alexander  ignored  it  if  he  heard  it.  "  You  think  Grim- 
stones'  is  a  good  going  concern  ?  "  he  said.  "  And  it'll  pay 
you  best  to  stay  there  ?  " 

Dodd  would  not  commit  himself  as  to  his  reason. 
"  You're  altogether  wrong  about  them,  that's  what  you  are," 

236 


DESIRE 

he  said  ;  "  right  off  the  track.  Things  may  have  been  rough, 
thanks  to  you  as  likely  as  not,  but  that's  done  with  ;  there's 
another  horse  in  that  stable  now  and  don't  you  forget  it — 
Here,  miss  " — turning  to  the  barmaid — "  I'm  paying  for 
mine,"  and  tossing  a  coin  he  walked  out,  a  proud  man  for  all 
that  he  had  saved  Alexander  the  pain  of  paying  for  what  he 
had  not  got. 

He  felt  taller  by  several  inches  for  this  difference  with 
Alexander  Grimstone,  and  so  particularly  cheerful  that  when 
he  reached  home  his  half-blind  old  mother  noticed  it.  The 
old  lady's  existence,  by  the  way,  made  any  other  home  and 
settlement  out  of  the  question  for  him  on  his  present  income  ; 
but  it  did  not  stand  in  the  way  of  his  being  an  honest  man. 
"  It  does  a  fellow  good  sometimes,"  so  he  told  her, "  to  stand 
up  and  show  he's  a  chap  that  can  keep  his  hands  clean — 
and  smash  the  dirty  face  of  any  one  who  doesn't !  "  And 
she,  of  course,  quite  agreed  with  him,  even  though  she  did 
not  exactly  understand  what  he  was  referring  to,  and 
certainly  had  neither  the  ability  nor  the  wish  to  go  into  the 
nice  question  of  motives — to  decide  how  much  of  strict 
honesty  Mr.  Dodd  possessed,  and  how  much  he  was  swayed 
by  that  subtle  sex  influence  which  makes  a  man  decline  to 
act  as  "she'd  think  caddish,"  even  when  he  knows  quite 
well  the  particular  "  she  "  doesn't  think  about  him  any  way. 

As  for  Alexander  Grimstone — he,  in  the  tortuous  but 
mainly  successful  course  of  his  life,  had  met  with  a  certain 
amount  of  plain  speech  from  offended  fellow-men,  and  so  his 
feelings  were  not  sensitive  to  verbal  insults.  He  put  Dodd's 
words  down  to  his  account,  of  course,  to  be  wiped  off  when 
opportunity  offered  ;  otherwise  he  troubled  nothing  about 
them  beyond  the  information  they  conveyed — that  Dodd 
was  not  going  to  sell  his  firm,  and  that  firm,  in  his  estimation 
at  least,  still  stood  as  formerly. 

237 


DESIRE 

The  man  himself  believed  in  it  else  he  would  not  stick  to 
it,  so  Alexander  reasoned — the  question  was,  with  what 
justice  ?  Alexander  was  not  sure  on  that  point,  but  from 
sundry  things  he  had  heard  he  rather  fancied  there  was  more 
justice  in  the  claim  than  he  cared  to  admit.  Dodd  had 
spoken  of  "  another  horse  in  the  stable  "  and  the  saying  gave 
Alexander  food  for  reflection.  Some  one  was  backing 
Grimstones'  ;  the  difficulties  he  had  arranged  for  them  in 
the  summer  had  been  met,  and  profitably  met  ;  he  had 
suspected  a  backer  then,  Dodd's  words  pointed  emphatically 
to  one  now.  There  must  be  money  somewhere,  but  in  spite 
of  all  his  efforts  he  could  not  find  out  where.  There  was 
no  new  blood  in  the  firm,  no  visible  outside  interest  j  the 
old  man  would  have  been  dead  against  such  a  thing  as  he 
was  dead  against  any  innovation  ;  Peter  was  following  on 
his  lines  in  the  main  with  the  single  trivial  exception  of  the 
employment  of  a  woman  clerk. 

Alexander  had  never  regarded,  and  had  never  had  reason 
to  regard,  women  as  anything  but  a  less  than  negligible 
quantity  in  the  only  affairs  that  interested  him  j  he  certainly 
did  not  regard  this  woman  as  anything  more  ;  however, 
when  he  had  failed  in  other  directions  it  did  occur  to  him  he 
might  learn  something  through  her.  From  Peter,  he  knew 
from  past  experience,  one  never  heard  anything  ;  whatever 
he  could  not  do  Peter  could  hold  his  tongue.  But  women 
all  talked,  especially  when  they  got  together ;  this  woman 
would  talk,  he  might  get  at  information  that  way,  at  least, 
he  would  get  at  what  she  knew,  and  she  must  know  some- 
thing even  if  it  was  only  a  very  little. 

This  decision  of  Alexander's  was  come  to  a  short  time 
before  the  removal  of  his  household  from  the  old  house  near 
his  business  in  the  squalid  pottery  town  to  the  more  com- 
modious River  House  in  Twycross.  The  removal  was  an 

238 


DESIRE 

upheaval,  conducted  in  the  worst  possible  way  and  with  the 
greatest  possible  amount  of  muddle  and  waste — that  was 
inevitable  in  anything  managed  by  Mrs.  Alexander  Grim- 
stone.  She  managed  this  unaided  ;  Alexander,  who  had 
retained  a  room  near  his  business,  lived  there  during  the 
period  and  left  her  to  her  own  devices  after  having  stipulated 
for  the  amount  of  money  to  be  laid  out.  When,  however, 
she  had  spent  nearly  a  fortnight  with  workmen  and  char- 
women, and  pastry-cook  meals  on  carpetless  floors,  he 
announced  his  intention  of  coming  home  for  a  Sunday. 
And  Mrs.  Alexander,  bemoaning  herself,  without  ceasing, 
to  any  one  who  would  listen  and  some  who  did  not, 
was  compelled  to  get  part  of  the  new  house  habitable, 
for  her  fear  of  him  was  greater  even  than  her  general 
incompetency. 

On  Saturday  night  Alexander  came,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  he  and  his  wife — she  against  her  will,  though  she 
knew  better  than  to  say  so — went  to  chapel. 

The  congregation,  no  doubt,  were  much  interested  in  the 
event  ;  Alexander  felt  that  he  was  recognized  by  a  good 
many — many  of  whom  he  knew  nothing.  That  probably 
was  on  account  of  his  wife,  who  was  an  inveterate  gossip, 
and  could  not  live  without  neighbouring,  and  so  had  already 
made  some  acquaintances.  When  she  came  out  of  chapel 
one  or  two  people  spoke  to  her  and  asked  after  her  cistern,  or 
her  lost  hammer,  or  whatever  tribulation  had  served  as  an 
introduction.  Alexander  paid  small  attention  to  any  of  them 
except  the  Harveys,  who,  as  friends,  after  a  sort,  of  his 
father,  deserved  a  little  more  of  his  attention.  He  was 
speaking  to  Mr.  Harvey  when  Mrs.  Grimstone  and  Desire 
came  out  of  the  chapel. 

Mrs.  Grimstone's  face  was  faintly  flushed,  otherwise  she 
was  as  usual,  more  than  usually  self-possessed.  Alexander 

239 


DESIRE 

came  to  meet  her.  "  Well,  mother,"  he  said,  "  how  are 
you  ?  Florence  !  " 

Florence,  in  the  midst  of  a  cistern  explanation,  came  and 
was  presented  to  her  mother-in-law,  to  whom  she  had  never 
before  spoken.  Most  of  the  congregation  had  gone  by  this 
time;  Desire  and  Mrs.  Grimstone,  according  to  their  custom, 
had  waited  late  before  leaving  the  chapel.  However,  there 
were  still  a  few  people  there  and  Mrs.  Grimstone  could  not, 
even  if  she  had  wished,  do  other  than  recognize  her  daughter- 
in-law.  She  did  not,  however,  wish  anything  different,  she 
received  her  in  a  simple  matter-of-course  fashion  and  began 
to  ask  after  the  child — she  had  forgotten  about  everything 
else. 

"  Gladys  ?  "  Mrs.  Alexander  said,  "  Oh,  she's  all  right,  at 
least  I  think  so,  I  haven't  seen  her  for  some  time.  She  is 
staying  away,  I  packed  her  off,  I  couldn't  do  with  her  while 
we're  moving  :  goodness  knows  there  was  enough  without 
her — I  have  had  a  time — Willis's  men " 

No  doubt  she  would  have  gone  on  to  confide  some  part  of 
her  troubles  to  Mrs.  Grimstone,  but  Alexander  unceremoni- 
ously cut  her  short  by  asking  after  his  father.  Whereupon 
she,  by  no  means  resenting  that  to  which  she  was  completely 
used,  turned  to  another  hearer.  "  I  never  saw  such  a  place 
as  this,"  she  complained  to  Desire, "  I  was  trying  everywhere 
on  Saturday  to  get  a  shade  for  a  clock ;  Willis's  men  said 
they'd  get  it  for  me  from  town,  but  I'm  sure  they  won't.  It's 
a  horrid  old  back  number  of  a  clock,  it  belonged  to  my 
mother — I'd  put  it  in  the  attic,  but  Alexander  will  have  it 
out,  and  now  the  shade's  gone " 

And  so  on  whenever  Alexander  did  not  want  the  attention 
of  the  person  to  whom  she  spoke ;  when  he  did  she  stopped 
in  whatever  she  was  saying  and  began  afresh  when  there  was 
a  chance  of  bestowing  her  conversation  on  a  listener.  This 

240 


DESIRE 

till  Alexander  was  ready  to  go,  which  he  did  without  a  word 
to  her,  she  having  to  hasten  after  him,  her  last  sentence 
unfinished.  But  she  was  quite  used  to  such  treatment 
and  made  no  comment  on  it  when  she  caught  up  with 
him.  She  made  no  comment  either  on  her  newly  introduced 
mother-in-law  except  to  say  she  looked  quite  a  granny  in 
that  cloak  and  bonnet.  Alexander  did  not  answer,  so  she 
relapsed  into  silence  except  once  when  she  complained  about 
the  state  of  the  roads  :  he  did  not  encourage  conversation,  in 
fact  he  so  actively  discouraged  it  that  she  had  by  now  learnt 
the,  to  her,  difficult  lesson  of  keeping  more  or  less  quiet  in 
his  company.  Even  to-day,  when  she  naturally  had  a  great 
deal  to  say  and  to  comment  on,  she  was  obliged  to  withhold 
it,  no  doubt  saving  it  up  for  the  first  new  acquaintance  she 
should  fall  in  with.  But  as  it  happened  she  did  not  have  to 
save  it  all,  for,  to  her  surprise,  after  dinner  that  day  he 
referred  to  the  subject  of  his  relations. 

"  You've  got  to  go  and  see  them,"  he  announced,  to  her 
great  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  you,  do  you  understand  ?  It's  no  good  me  going, 
just  a  waste  of  time,  they  don't  want  me.  They  think  I'm 
responsible  for  the  old  man's  last  fit  and  'other  things — not 
but  what  I  should  go  all  the  same  if  I  wanted  to,  but  I 
don't,  it'd  be  a  clear  waste  of  my  time." 

"  But,"  Mrs.  Alexander  began,  "  I  can't  go  without  you — " 
then  seeing  by  his  face  that  she  both  could  and  would  if  he 
decreed  it  she  altered  her  protest.  "  I  can't  go  without  an 
invitation — I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  force  myself  where  I'm 
not  wanted." 

"  You  are  wanted,"  he  said  shortly,  "  you  and  the  kid  ; 
they'll  ask  you  fast  enough,  and  you've  got  to  go,  do  you 
hear  ? " 

Mrs.  Alexander  by  this  time  could  recognize  an  order 
16  241 


DESIRE 

when  she  got  it ,  she  did  not  gainsay  this  one  although  she 
did  not  like  it,  she  only  feebly  wondered  why  Alexander 
gave  it. 

And  for  once  he  told  her  more  or  less.  "  You're  to  pal 
up  with  that  woman  who's  there,"  he  said.  "  You're  a  bit  of 
a  fool,  but  you're  a  chattering  one  and  set  others  chattering  ; 
I  want  that  woman  set  chattering,  and  when  she  chatters 
you'll  have  to  remember  what  she  says.  She's  in  Grimstones' 
and  she'll  talk  about  the  business,  what  she  knows  of  it,  I  bet." 

Mrs.  Alexander  stiffened  a  little.  <c  I  suppose  you  refer  to 
the  person  who  was  with  your  mother  to-day.  You  want  to 
know  about  her  ? " 

Alexander  did  not ;  it  was  what  she  might  be  able  to  tell, 
not  what  she  was,  that  interested  him,  he  said  so  as  he  felt 
for  his  toothpick.  But  his  wife  for  once  did  not  heed  him, 
she  was  on  a  subject  where,  with  her  kind,  zeal  sometimes 
outstrips  discretion. 

"She  really  isn't  what  I  call  respectable,"  she  said 
superiorly.  "  Look  at  the  feather  in  her  hat  to-day,  it  must 
have  cost  a  guinea  and  a  half  if  it  cost  a  penny,  that  one 
alone  !  And  her  shoes  too !  It's  a  perfect  disgrace  !  A 
typist  indeed,  with  that  hair  and  that  voice !  Why  her 
voice  gives  her  away,  she  has  only  to  open  her  mouth  for 
men  to  turn  round  !  I  should  like  to  know  where  she  gets 
her  money  ! " 

The  virtuous  indignation  of  the  tone — a  tone  only  to  be 
achieved  by  a  woman  who  has  never  had  a  chance  of  being 
anything  but  virtuous  herself,  was  just  waste  so  far  as 
Alexander  was  concerned.  He  did  not  heed  it  nor  the 
accusation  either,  the  last  words  alone  caught  his  attention 
and  so  saved  Mrs.  Alexander  from  a  discourteous  silencing. 

"  Has  she  money  ?"  he  said  sharply.  "  Who  says  so  ?  If 
she  has  what's  she  doing  here  ?  " 

242 


DESIRE 

"  That's  what  every  one  wants  to  know,"  Mrs.  Alexander 
said  with  meaning. 

"  Who  ? "  her  husband  demanded,  missing  the  meaning 
because  it  did  not  interest  him. 

"  Oh,  well " — Mrs.  Alexander  was  rather  nonplussed  by 
the  literalness  of  the  question — "  not  every  one  exactly  ;  you 
see,  so  few  people  know  your  father  and  mother.  It's 
perfectly  extraordinary,  that  any  one  should  have  lived  here, 
or  near  here,  so  long  as  they  have,  and  yet  know  so  few 
people  ;  no  one  really  knows  them  or  talks  about  them  much. 
Still,  of  course,  this  Miss  Quebell,  or  whatever  her  name  is, 
is  such  a — well,  I  call  her  a  showy  sort  of  person — they  can't 
help  seeing  her  and  talking  about  her  a  little " 

Alexander  stopped  her  impatiently.  "  I  don't  want  your 
stupid  gossip,"  he  said,  "  you  can  keep  that.  What  I'm 
trying  to  get  at  is — has  she  money  or  hasn't  she  ?  If  you 
know,  tell  me  ;  if  you  don't,  for  heaven's  sake  hold  your 
tongue." 

"  She  must  have  money,"  Mrs.  Alexander  said  decidedly, 

"  look  at  her  clothes "     Alexander's  contempt  for  such 

an  argument  was  obvious,  but  his  wife  went  on  all  the  same 
— "  I  don't  mean  to-day  only,  but  other  times  too.  One  of 
the  Harvey  girls  told  me  she  saw  her  on  an  evening  in  the 
summer — hot  weather  it  was,  Miss  Harvey  was  coming 
home  from  somewhere,  I  forget  where  now,  by  the  top  road 
and  she  saw  Miss  Quebell  and  your  brother  come  out  of  the 
house.  She  had  her  neck  and  arms  bare,  quite  an  evening 
dress,  of  most  expensive  silk,  and  really  quite  indecent,  cling- 
ing so  close,  as  if  she  had  nothing  on  underneath,  nothing 
but  silk  stockings — real  silk,  and  you  know  they  cost  twelve 
and  sixpence  a  pair.  It  was  moonlight,  that's  how  Miss 
Harvey  saw  ;  she,  Miss  Quebell,  I  mean,  had  come  out  to 
look  at  the  moon  with  your  brother " 

243 


DESIRE 

In  spite  of  his  impatience  Alexander  could  not  help 
laughing.  The  idea  of  any  woman  being  considered  danger- 
ous because  she  went  to  look  at  the  moon  with  Peter — Or 
any  woman,  dangerous  or  otherwise,  doing  such  a  thing 
at  all  except  in  the  imagination  of  idle  talkers  was  ludicrous 
to  him. 

"  You'd  better  shut  up,"  he  advised,  "  if  that's  all  you've 
got  to  say  you'd  better  keep  it  for  folks  who  swallow  that 
sort  of  stuff.  What  are  these  ?  Willis's  bills  and  the  rest  ? " 

He  took  them  up  and  began  to  look  at  them.  Mrs. 
Alexander  flushed.  "  Oh  well,"  she  said  bridling  a  little  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  her  husband  was  not  attending,  "  your 
brother's  not  the  only  one,  I  can  tell  you.  Mr.  Williams  is 
mad  about  her,  I've  heard,  she's  been  to  tea  there  once  if  not 
twice,  and  the  curate" — Mrs.  Alexander  had  leanings 
towards  the  Church  as  being  more  aristocratic  than  Dissent — 
"  he  knows  her,  some  one  saw  them  one  Sunday  evening  in 
the  lane  j  she  was  sitting  on  a  gate  and  he  was  standing  by 
and  they  were  talking,  so  interested  in  what  they  were  saying 
they  never  heard  steps  or  anything.  Of  course  they  may 
have  met  by  chance,  I  say  they  may,  but — Well,  at  any 
rate  no  one  seems  to  know  how  she  picked  up  with  him, 
your  relatives  going  to  chapel  as  they  do.  But  she  picks  up 
with  any  one,  one  of  the  young  Harveys  saw  her  walking 
along  with  a  quarryman  one  evening.  She  seems  to  be 
great  friends  with  the  quarrymen — he,  young  Harvey,  you 
know,  often  takes  his  dog  out  before  breakfast,  and  when  he 
goes  along  that  road  he  sometimes  passes  the  quarrymen 
going  to  work.  He  says  they,  or  at  least  some  of  them, 
always  look  up  at  a  window  in  your  father's  house — her 
window,  if  you  please — and  if  she  looks  out  and  smiles  and 
says  good-morning  or  anything,  the  one  who  sees  calls  to  the 
others  that  the  sun  is  shining  this  morning.  Fancy  having 

244 


DESIRE 

common  working-men  speaking  of  one  like  that !  It  shows 
what  she  is " 

Possibly  Mrs.  Alexander  would  have  gone  on  further,  that 
is  if  at  this  early  stage  of  her  residence  at  Twyford  she  had 
further  gossip  to  draw  from — but  her  husband  interrupted 
her  to  inquire  about  an  item  on  one  of  the  bills.  It  was 
linoleum,  and  as,  to  his  thinking,  a  larger  quantity  than 
necessary  had  been  used,  Mrs.  Alexander  had  shortly  enough 
affairs  of  her  own  to  consider.  When  her  husband  left  her 
she  was  on  the  verge  of  tears.  He  had  told  her  she  could 
pay  for  the  excess  linoleum  out  of  her  dress  money.  But 
tears  were  without  effect  on  him,  and  he  went  to  write  some 
business  letters  in  a  perfectly  equable  frame  of  mind. 

At  the  door  he  looked  back.  "  You'd  better  get  the  kid 
home  this  week,"  he  said,  "  get  her  to-morrow  or  Tuesday  ; 
you  can't  start  in  with  the  old  lady  till  you've  got  the  kid, 
and  the  sooner  you  do  start  the  better,  d'you  understand  ? " 

And  Mrs.  Alexander  understood  she  had  got  to  obey. 


245 


CHAPTER   XVI 

ON  a  certain  Thursday  in  October,  a  blacksmith  from  the 
hills  came  to  Grimstones'  ;  a  silent  man  he  was,  a  distant 
relative  of  Bolt's.  Like  him  of  the  hill  race,  a  different 
stock  to  the  town  people,  darker,  smaller,  of  greater  enduring 
capacity,  of  slow  intelligence  and  a  curious  aloofness  of  mind 
which  made  it  hard  for  outsiders  to  penetrate  through  to  the 
springs  of  action  and  emotion  ;  a  good  staying  stock,  not 
easily  shaken  in  an  idea,  and  consequently  loyal  in  like  and 
dislike,  though  little  given  to  manifesting  either  in  words. 
This  blacksmith  worked  an  old  forge  on  the  now  little  used 
highway  across  the  neck  of  the  hills.  Peter,  who  had  known 
him  to  say  a  word  to  for  many  years,  felt  all  along  that  he 
was  the  man  when  the  time  should  come  for  the  plate 
machine  to  be  put  together.  Desire  was  of  the  same 
opinion  when  she  had  seen  him  and  when  she  heard  he  was 
related  to  Bolt.  So  the  job  was  offered  to  him — one  did  not 
tell  the  hill  people  to  do  things,  one  asked  them  if  they 
would — and  when  the  last  piece  of  the  machine  had  been 
delivered  he  came. 

Bolt,  under  his  direction,  made  a  temporary  forge  in  an 
outhouse,  and  throughout  the  whole  operation,  as  he  brought 
no  assistant,  acted  as  boy  to  him.  No  doubt  he  came  in  for 
the  abuse  appertaining  to  the  post,  but  it  was  laconic  and 
short-worded,  and  spoken  in  the  dialect  of  the  hills — a 
dialect  which  Desire,  in  spite  of  her  linguistic  skill,  could 
not  follow.  She  had  little  to  do  with  the  putting  together 
of  the  machine  ;  it  was;  Peter's  work,  Peter  and  the  man  of 

246 


DESIRE 

few  words  and  Bolt,  who  blew  the  bellows  and  eased  a  nut 
here  and  shifted  a  weight  there  to  order.  She  had  nothing 
to  do  but  to  stand  back  and  look  on,  and  she  did  that  so 
completely  that  the  men  forgot  she  was  there  in  their 
absorption  in  the  matter  in  hand.  Possibly,  could  the  truth 
be  known,  those  few  women  who  have  held  men  as  well  as 
charmed  them  have  all  understood  that  art  of  looking  on, 
the  difficult  art  of  effacing  themselves  entirely  at  times. 

But  though  Desire  had  no  part  in  the  work,  she  enjoyed 
it  immensely.  Skill  and  mastery,  no  matter  in  what  dis- 
played, always  appealed  to  her.  Peter's  mastery  over  this 
thing,  his  sure  grip,  thrilled  something  in  her  curiously.  She 
had  known  he  had  power  of  sorts,  she  had  seen  its  mental 
result  before  now,  but  it  pleased  the  primitive  in  her  to  see 
it  physically.  The  sheer  work,  too,  pleased  her,  the  deft 
handling  of  unwieldy  mass,  the  smithy  work,  the  roar  of  the 
fire,  and  the  cunning  fashioning  of  metal  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  ringing  sound  and  curt,  uncouth  words.  She  felt 
as  if  she  were  back  in  the  beginning  of  things,  as  if  here  and 
now  were  forces  older  and  simpler  than  anything  she  had 
dealt  with  in  her  former  half-forgotten  life. 

When  at  dinner-time  she  and  Peter  came  out  into  the 
yard  she  spoke  of  one  of  the  notions  which  had  come  to  her. 

"  I  believe,"  she  said,  "  that  I  understand  them  now,  Bolt 
and  the  other,  and  my  friends  of  the  quarries.  They  are  a  far- 
away people  who  have  somehow  got  left  behind  into  this 
time  ;  they  live  close  down  to  the  earth  and,  being  near,  see 
things  large  and  simple  and  without  shades.  Bolt  is  not 
troubled  with  any  shades  or  grades,  he  has  no  complex 
motives.  He  hates  Alexander,  that  is  all.  Every  time  he 
swings  the  sledge  he  thinks  of  it  as  coming  down  on 
Alexander,  and  every  time  he  blows  up  the  fire  he  thinks  of 
it  as  heating  for  the  burning  of  Alexander." 

247 


DESIRE 

Peter  was  not  sure  whether  she  was  right.  "I  don't 
know  that  Bolt  feels  quite  like  that,"  he  said,  "  though 
certainly  I  own  that  Alexander  has  a  rather  remarkable  gift 
for  rousing  people's  antagonism.  I  don't  know  what  he  did 
to  Bolt,  possibly  not  so  very  much  ;  Alexander  has  a  way  of 
doing  small  things  so  that  they  give  great  offence,  and  Bolt 
— I  have  noticed  before  with  people  like  him,  they  have  a 
different  standard  of  things,  especially  offences." 

"  That,"  Desire  said,  "  is  because  they  are  a  survival — a 
survival  of  the  time  when  a  money  payment  wiped  oft 
murder,  and  an  unpleasant  death  was  the  natural  retribution 
consequent  upon  taking  a  man's  ox  We  are  late  for  dinner. 
I  am  not  going  up-stairs  to  wash." 

There  is  a  wonderful,  some  even  say  a  dangerous,  intimacy 
when  two  people  plunge  arms  bare  to  the  elbow  in  the  same 
earthenware  bowl  and  dry  on  the  same  towel ;  but  if  they 
are  busy  thinking  of  another  matter,  of  great  importance  to 
them,  they  cannot  think  anything  of  this.  Desire  and  Peter 
thought  and  talked  of  the  machine  and  what  it  was  going 
to  do. 

"  Dodd  sent  another  order  this  morning,"  she  said  ;  "just 
such  a  one  as  the  last — large,  but  a  lot  under  our  usual  price. 
Poor  little  man,  he  is  in  a  great  way  about  it  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  I  told  him  we  could  take  such  and  leave  ourselves 
a  fair  profit — more  than  fair,  though  I  didn't  tell  him  that. 
Give  me  the  dry  end  of  the  towel,  this  is  wet." 

Peter  turned  the  towel  round  for  her.  "  I  wonder,"  he 
said,  "  whether  Alexander  has  anything  to  do  with  those 
orders." 

"  Why  should  he  ?  "  Desire  asked. 

"  It's  one  way  of  helping  a  firm  downhill ;  I  mean,  to 
advise  buyers  to  go  to  them  for  certain  things,  but  at  prices 
which  are  practically  impossible.  You  see,  a  man  does  not 

248 


DESIRE 

like  to  refuse  an  order,  especially  if  it  is  a  large  one  from  a 
new  or  not  regular  customer.  He  is  tempted  to  take  it  if  he 
is  having  a  fight  to  keep  going  ;  he  persuades  himself  he  can 
manage  it  somehow,  or  if  it  is  impossible  to  squeeze  a  margin 
of  profit,  he  will  do  it  this  once  under  cost  for  an  advertise- 
ment and  an  introduction.  And,  of  course,  if  he  only  takes 
enough  of  such  orders  and  on  such  terms,  the  end  is  not 
hard  to  see,  though  it's  possible  he  does  not  himself  see  it 
till  too  late." 

"  How  abominable  !  "  Desire  exclaimed.  "  Do  you  know, 
I  don't  think  I  admire  commercial  fighting." 

"  You  must  not  judge  it  all  by  what  you  have  seen  here," 
Peter  told  her.  "  Of  course,  I  may  be  wrong  about  this, 
though  I  can't  help  thinking  it  is  being  done  ;  there  have 
been  rather  a  suspicious  number  of  those  orders  lately." 

Desire  laughed.  £<  Isn't  it  excellent  ?  "  she  said.  "  We 
couldn't  have  got  many  more  if  we  had  put  another 
traveller  on.  Oh,  Alexander,  how  beautifully  you  play 
into  our  hands  !  I  congratulate  you,  Alexander  ;  you  have 
led  plates,  and  plates  is  the  suit  we  require  !  "  She  waved 
a  hand  in  what  she  took  to  be  the  direction  of  the  River 
House,  then  her  gaiety  dropped  a  little.  "  Oh,  bother  ! " 
she  said,  "  there's  that  woman  coming  this  afternoon." 

The  woman  in  question  was  Mrs.  Alexander  Grimstone. 
She  and  her  little  daughter  Gladys  had  been  invited  to  come 
to  tea. 

As  Alexander  had  foreseen,  the  grandmother's  wish  to  see 
the  child  had  overruled  other  feelings.  Not  very  easily,  not 
so  easily  as  he  imagined,  nor  without  help  from  Desire. 
Mrs.  Grimstone  wanted  to  see  the  child,  but  she  wavered, 
remembering  her  husband  and  the  objections  he  would  have 
raised  ;  the  opinions  and  wishes  the  sick  man  used  to  hold 
were  still  considered  and  regarded  in  a  way  that,  to  Desire, 

249 


DESIRE 

was  wonderful.  However,  on  this  occasion  she  combated 
them,  pointing  out  to  Mrs.  Grimstone  that  it  could  do  no 
harm  to  ask  the  mother  and  child,  and  that  it  was  impossible 
to  decide  what  would  have  been  done  if  Ezra  had  been 
himself,  as  these  circumstances  then  were  not  likely  to  have 
arisen.  So  Mrs.  Grimstone  decided  to  invite  them. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  asked  them  to  dinner  and  to  spend 
a  long  day,"  she  said  doubtfully,  "  but  I  don't  know,  I  don't 
feel  as  if  I  knew  her  at  all.  She  looks  such  a  smart  sort  of 
person,  with  her  bracelets  and  her  chains  and  lace  trimmings 
and  all  ;  I'm  afraid  she'd  look  down  on  our  homely  ways, 
she'd  be  used  to  grander  things.  You  know,  she  had  money 
of  her  own." 

"  I  know  she's  a  bad  manager,"  Desire  declared.  "  Those 
thin-voiced,  flat-chested  v/omen  who  frizzle,  their  hair  with 
tongs  and  trim  their  clothes  with  yards  of  wrong-coloured, 
machine-made  trimming,  never  know  how  to  order  a  dinner 
or  speak  to  a  servant.  I  wouldn't  mind  betting  things  don't 
often  go  right  in  her  house.  All  the  same,  I  don't  think  I 
would  ask  her  to  dinner  to  begin  with  j  have  her  to  tea  and 
see  how  it  goes,  and  see  what  the  child  is  like." 

And  Desire  carried  her  point,  and  Mrs.  Alexander  was 
invited  to  tea  on  that  particular  Thursday. 

After  dinner  Desire  helped  Mrs.  Grimstone  to  get  out 
and  dust  some  of  the  best  china.  She  liked  helping  the  old 
lady,  and  she  liked  the  orderly  china  closet  where  beautiful 
plates  and  bowls  and  several  generations  of  tea  sets,  each 
with  a  history  of  its  own,  stood  ranged  on  the  shelves.  But 
she  grudged  the  time  to-day.  Bolt  and  the  blacksmith  were  at 
work,  and  the  wonderful  machine  was  still  being  put  together. 
She  went  out  later  to  see  what  had  been  done,  but  she  could 
not  stay  a  great  while,  for  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  particularly 
anxious  she  should  help  her  receive  the  rather  dreaded 

250 


DESIRE 

daughter-in-law.  Particularly  anxious,  too,  though  she  was 
too  courteous  to  say  it,  that  she  should  be  dressed  for  the 
occasion.  Desire  guessed  as  much,  so  made  a  careful  toilet 
and  put  her  pearl  earrings  in  her  ears,  and,  in  spite  of  her 
mourning,  a  pair  of  scarlet  slippers  on  her  feet. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  was  sitting  in  the  seldom-used  drawing- 
room  to  receive  her  daughter-in-law.  Desire  had  urged 
nothing  against  this,  though  she  knew  it  would  add 
formality.  She  thought  it  too  much  honour  for  that  un- 
attractive-looking person  to  be  taken  at  the  outset  to  the 
room  where  they  principally  lived.  Mrs.  Grimstone  started 
a  little  as  Desire  entered — she  was  clearly  rather  nervous. 

UI  thought  perhaps  they'd  be  here  by  now,"  she 
said. 

"  They'll  be  late,"  Desire  assured  her.  "  I'm  often  late 
myself,  but  for  a  variety  of  reasons.  That  kind  of  woman 
is  always  late  and  always  for  the  same  reason — it  can't  get 
dressed  in  time." 

She  went  to  a  window  and  looked  out  to  satisfy  Mrs. 
Grimstone  ;  but  only  a  short  piece  of  the  road  to  the  town 
could  be  seen,  and  the  visitors  were  not  yet  visible.  She 
came  back  to  the  fire-place  and  stood,  one  arm  on  the  mantel- 
piece, looking  into  the  fire.  Mrs.  Grimstone  regarded  her 
in  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  then  she  said,  a  propos  of  nothing 
but  her  own  complete  conviction — 

"  My  dear,  you  are  a  very  beautiful  woman." 
Desire  looked  up.     She  was  almost  absurdly  pleased  with 
the  tribute.     "  Though,"  so  she  declared,  laughing  a  little, 
"  I  believe  it's  my  frock  you  mean  ;  you  don't  often  see  me 
in  my  best  clothes,  you  know." 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  answered  simply,  "  I  wasn't 
thinking  about  that,  I'm  afraid  I  had  forgotten  to  notice 
your  dress,  though  certainly  it  is  very  nice — I  was  thinking 

251 


DESIRE 

I  would  like  to  see  you,  in  just  a  white  wrapper  or  anything, 
with  a  little  baby  cuddled  to  your  breast." 

Desire  flushed  faintly,  and  for  a  moment  her  eyes  grew 
misty,  though  she  could  not  have  told  why.  "  Should  you, 
little  mother  ?  "  she  said.  "  Perhaps  I  should  too — if  I  could 
ever  care  for  the  man  enough  to  care  for  the  baby." 

,  "  Oh,  but  you  would "  Mrs.  Grimstone's  voice  had 

the  curious  softness  and  certainty  of  the  mother-woman  ; 
but  at  that  moment  there  came  a  ring  at  the  bell  and  she 
stopped  in  what  she  was  going  to  say. 

Mrs.  Alexander  came  in  with  the  rustling  of  silks,  the 
scattering  of  scent,  and  the  rattling  of  ornaments.  The 
child,  Gladys,  came  in  with  the  best  imitation  of  her  mother 
that  eight  years  and  grotesquely  short  skirts  can  give. 

"  Are  we  late  ? "  Mrs.  Alexander  said.  "  It's  such  an 
awful  way,  I  thought  we'd  never  get  here  !  We  were  late 
in  starting,  and  we  seem  to  have  come  miles  and  miles,  and 
the  roads  are  too  awful !  We  are  not  fit  to  be  seen  for  mud. 
I  told  Alexander  what  it  would  be,  but  he  would  not  let  me 
have  a  fly." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  sympathized,  but  more  with  Gladys. 
"  Such  a  long  way  for  such  little  legs,"  she  said,  drawing  the 
child  to  her.  And  the  child,  after  offering  a  cool  cheek  to 
her  grandmother,  sat  down,  carefully  spreading  out  her  sash 
ends  and  arranging  her  bracelets. 

Certainly  Mrs.  Alexander  could  talk,  her  husband  was 
not  wrong  there  ;  she  could  and  did  talk  in  plenty  and  with- 
out much  reserve.  She  spoke  of  private  affairs,  notably  the 
shortcomings  of  Alexander,  with  a  freedom  positively  shock- 
ing to  Mrs.  Grimstone.  He  was  so  mean,  he  cut  her  off 
that  and  stopped  this.  He  was  so  bad-tempered,  she  daren't 
for  her  life  cross  him,  he  snapped  off  her  head  if  she  did  not 
at  once  understand.  He  was  so  sharp,  he  was  one  too  many 

252 


DESIRE 

for  this  person  and  got  even  with  that.  He  thought  nothing 
of  her  and  her  opinion,  treated  her  like  a  fool ;  but  she  took 
him  in  sometimes — her  self-satisfaction  was  evident  as  she 
confided  it — she  did  lots  of  things  on  the  sly;  it  was  the 
only  way  to  manage  men,  they  were  all  bullies  and  selfish 
brutes. 

To  all  of  which  outpourings  Desire  listened  with  a  stare 
which  was  not  without  ultimate  effect  on  the  talker,  who 
eventually  began  to  suspect  that  the  tribute  of  surprise  was 
not  altogether  flattering.  Certainly  Desire  was  surprised. 
This  kind  of  woman  was  a  novelty  in  her  experience  and 
one  she  did  not  admire.  Mrs.  Grimstone  did  not  admire 
it  either  j  more,  it  distressed  her  and  shocked  her  old- 
fashioned  notions  of  seemly  reserve.  She  did  not  realize  that 
her  daughter-in-law  was  less  confiding  domestic  troubles  to  a 
comparative  stranger  than  boasting  of  them  as  distinctions. 
Among  Mrs.  Alexander's  intimate  friends  every  woman  was 
in  the  habit  of  parading  the  things  which  discretion  led  old- 
fashioned  ladies  to  wish  to  conceal,  and  to,  if  possible,  out- 
talk  and  out-brag  the  others  in  doing  it.  They  may  or 
may  not  have  cared  for  their  husbands — Mrs.  Alexander 
certainly,  not  unreasonably,  did  not  care  for  hers — but  each 
and  all  seemed  anxious  to  create  the  impression  that  they 
were  matrimonial  martyrs. 

It  was  to  Desire  principally  that  Mrs.  Alexander  addressed 
her  conversation.  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  devoting  herself  to 
the  child  ;  a  not  very  satisfactory  proceeding  on  the  whole, 
for  though  Gladys  was  by  no  means  shy,  and  answered  with 
a  readiness  which  bordered  on  the  pert,  Mrs.  Grimstone 
did  not  find  it  easy  to  get  on  with  her.  Almost  any  other 
kind  of  child  would  have  been  possible  to  the  tender-hearted 
grandmother ;  but  this  mature  grown-up,  with  her  curled 
hair,  and  conscious  clothes,  and  little  superior  smile,  was  very 

253 


DESIRE 

unapproachable.  Once,  before  tea,  Mrs.  Grimstone  had  a 
few  more  intimate  words  with  her  daughter-in-law.  It  was 
when  she  spoke,  with  the  tentative  gentleness  of  one  fearing 
to  probe  a  wound,  of  the  child  who  had  died.  But  she  need 
not  have  feared  hurting  Mrs.  Alexander. 

"  Freda  ? "  she  said.  "  Yes,  she  was  always  a  weakly 
little  thing,  so  peevish  too,  I  never  expected  to  rear  her. 
I  spent  a  perfect  fortune  on  patent  foods  and  so  on  for  her 
at  different  times,  but  she  never  would  take  them.  She  was 
a  fearful  worry,  no  nurse  I  ever  had  could  get  on  with  her. 
Alexander  said  I  gave  way  to  her  too  much  ;  he  would  have 
her  turned  out  in  all  weathers  and  made  to  walk,  and  so  on  ; 
he  said  I  coddled  her.  I'm  sure  I  didn't,  I  had  no  patience 
with  her  grizzling,  neither  had  nurse  ;  we  were  always  sharp 
with  her." 

Something  suddenly  stirred  in  Desire,  it  may  have  been 
the  dormant  motherhood  she  did  not  believe  she  possessed, 
it  may  have  been  only  the  large  pity  of  the  very  strong. 
But  at  the  vision  of  the  sickly  child  and  its  prolonged, 
unnecessary  suffering,  there  came  a  swelling  in  her  throat, 
and  an  anger  which  nearly  choked  her  lit  her  eyes 
fiercely.  Fortunately,  perhaps,  she  could  not  easily  find 
words. 

"  Poor  little  wretch  !  "  she  said.  That  was  all,  but  her 
voice,  full  and  deep  with  feeling,  struck  almost  like  the  note 
of  a  big  bell,  and  for  a  moment  brought  the  silence  or 
surprise. 

But  Mrs.  Alexander  was  not  easily  impressed.  "  It  really 
was  a  mercy,  her  dying,"  she  said  ;  "she  was  so  dreadfully 
delicate.  I  was  delicate  myself  as  a  child,  even  now " 

Mrs.  Grimstone,  with  a  little  trembling  of  the  lips,  turned 
to  Gladys  and  began  to  talk  gently  to  her  about  her  lost 
playmate.  Gladys  answered  quite  readily  and  without  any 

254 


DESIRE 

trembling,  her  little  high  voice  soon  reaching  Desire  above 
the  mother's  talk  of  her  own  constitution. 

"  Yes,"  she  heard,  "  and  it  was  such  a  pity,  it  was  the 
spring.  We  had  to  wear  mourning  in  the  summer,  you 
see — fancy  wearing  black  dresses  instead  of  muslin  ones  ! 
I  had  a  silk  dress  with  roses  on  put  away — it  will  be  too 
small  for  me  next  year." 

Desire  was  thankful  for  the  advent  of  Peter  and  tea. 

Peter  did  not  stay  long,  he  had  much  to  do,  but  while 
he  was  there  both  mother  and  daughter  gave  their  attention 
exclusively  to  him.  The  mother  exhibited  for  him  the 
kittenish  manner  she  kept  for  mankind,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  respond,  indeed  did  not  perceive  it,  but 
returned  serious  answers  to  her  playful  questions,  missed  all 
her  giddy  overtures,  and  gave  a  disconcertingly  grave  and 
courteous  attention  to  what  she  said.  The  daughter  imitated 
her  mother  to  a  certain  extent,  but  not  entirely.  The  shape 
of  her  forehead  and  the  look  of  her  eyes  suggested  that  she 
had  some  of  her  father's  characteristics,  and  already  she 
showed  signs  of  more  brains  than  her  mother.  Her  over- 
tures to  Peter  were  on  the  whole  less  foolish,  but,  to  Desire, 
somehow  more  displeasing  than  the  elder  woman's.  The 
child  contrived  to  make  Desire  ashamed  for  her  sex,  a  thing 
not  easy  to  do.  She  also  made  her  grateful  for  Peter's 
curious  unconsciousness  of  such  things,  or  at  all  events  his 
apparent  unconsciousness,  and  very  thankful  that  he  went 
back  to  work  directly  tea  was  over. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  went  up-stairs  to  her  husband,  and  for 
a  short  time  Desire  was  left  alone  with  the  visitors.  Though 
this  might  be  regarded  as  an  opportunity  to  do  her  husband's 
bidding,  Mrs.  Alexander  evidently  regretted  Peter's  going. 

"  But  that's  the  way  with  the  men,"  she  said ;  "  one 
really  sees  nothing  of  them  except  at  feeding  time.  I'm 

255 


DESIRE 

sure  when  I  have  an  evening  I  always  say  we  might  as  well 
be  without  them  for  all  we  see  of  them.  I  remember  once 
— I  had  a  married  girl  staying  with  me  then,  a  regular 
go-ahead,  up  to  anything — the  men  were  such  a  time  smoking 
after  food  that  she  went  and  sneaked  some  cigarettes  from 
her  husband's  pockets,  and  just  before  they  came  in  we 
lighted  up,  and  when  they  arrived  there  we  were,  all  smoking 
— just  to  show  that  we  could  do  it  as  well  as  they  ! " 

Gladys  tittered.  She  had  heard  this  anecdote  before,  and 
it  always  created  mirth.  This  time  it  did  not.  There  was  a 
palpable  pause,  the  face  of  the  tall  woman  to  whom  it  was 
now  told  showed  an  expression  new  in  the  child's  experience. 
When  she  did  speak,  her  voice  again  struck  deep,  though 
chilly. 

"  Did  you  ? "  was  all  she  said. 

Mrs.   Alexander  was  riot  displeased.     "I   believe  you're 
shocked,"  she  said. 
"I  believe  I  am." 

It  seemed  ridiculous  in  one  who  smoked  as  Desire  did. 
She  felt  it  herself,  felt  that  it  was  almost  hypocritical.  But 
it  was  the  literal  truth,  and  at  the  moment  she  could  not 
help  saying  it,  though  directly  afterwards  she  tried  to 
compensate  by  talking  pleasantly  of  other  things. 

But  Mrs.  Alexander  was  not  in  the  least  offended.  To 
have  shocked  was  almost  as  gratifying  as  to  have  amused — 
even  more  so  in  this  case.  She  went  on  talking  volubly  of 
all  manner  of  things. 

"  What  a  frumpy  old  place  it  is  !  "  she  said,  glancing 
round.  "  Look  at  those  vases."  She  pointed  to  two  slender 
ornaments  of  glass,  of  graceful  shape  and  beautiful  gilding,  in 
the  fashion  of  fifty  years  ago.  "  Did  ever  you  see  such  back 
numbers  ?  But  everything's  the  same  ;  doesn't  it  give  you 
the  jim-jams  ?  It  would  me.  I'd  pretty  soon  alter  it  if  I 

256 


DESIRE 

were  here.  They've  got  some  nice  things,  too.  I'd  have 
them  out — the  china  we  had  at  tea,  for  instance." 

"  They  keep  the  tea  things  in  the  china  closet." 

So  Desire  said  and  again  repented. 

But  there  was  no  need,  Mrs.  Alexander  perceived  no  snub, 
only  information. 

"  How  ridiculous  !  "  she  said.  "  They  ought  to  be  kept 
where  they  can  be  seen  ;  they'd  look  perfectly  sweet  on  the 
mantelpiece.  You  ought  to  see  my  mantelpiece — you  must 
come  one  day — I  have  some  lovely  cups  and  two  spiffing  old 
plates  ;  I'm  cracked  on  those  sort  of  things,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  much  about  them." 

Desire  had  dined  oft  specimen  Sevres  plates  and  old 
Nankin  china,  had  taken  tea  many  a  time  from  Crown 
Derby  and  Worcester  cups  with  pedigrees  like  prize  bull- 
dogs. But  that  did  not  occur  to  her  now.  She  felt  herself  to 
be  ignorant  of  the  subject  from  Mrs.  Alexander's  decorative 
point  of  view,  also  she  was  finding  it  difficult  to  be  civil, 
more  difficult  than  she  had  ever  found  it  before. 

Possibly  Mrs.  Alexander  found  things  a  little  difficult  too. 
Not  the  talking — that  was  always  easy  and,  she  never  doubted, 
always  satisfactory  to  the  other  party — but  the  carrying  out 
her  husband's  instructions.  Miss  Quebell  did  not  talk,  she 
said  wonderfully  little  ;  certainly  she  said  nothing  whatevei 
about  Peter  or  the  business.  She  made  none  of  those  accus- 
ing confidences  that  Mrs.  Alexander  was  used  to  hearing 
about  husbands,  brothers  and  fathers  ;  or  any  of  the  other 
confidences  about  lovers,  male  employers  and  other  men 
who  were  supposed  to  admire.  As  for  business,  it  might 
never  have  existed  ;  all  she  said,  and  that  when  she  was 
asked  point  blank,  was  "  Yes,  she  worked  in  the  office,  typing 
and  so  on  sometimes." 

"She  is  the  most  stuck-up,  stand-offish  creature  I  ever 
17  257 


DESIRE 

met,"  she  told  her  husband  when  she  got  home.  "  She 
might  have  been  a  countess  at  least,  instead  of  a — well,  I 
don't  know  what.  The  way  she  shakes  hands,  the  way  she 
moves,  the  way  she  expects  every  one  to  be  quiet  when  she 
does  condescend  to  speak." — Mrs.  Alexander  was  here  mis- 
taking the  effect  for  the  cause.  The  fact  of  herself  falling 
into  silence,  except  under  Alexander's  orders,  was  so  unusual 
that  it  is  not  surprising  she  thought  some  one  must  have 
emphatically  expected  if  not  enforced  it. 

Alexander  was  not  in  the  least  interested  in  his  wife's 
opinion  or  her  abuse.  She  abused  all  the  people  she  knew 
in  turn,  even  those  with  whom  she  was  bosom  friends. 
The  thing  which  mattered  to  him  was  that  the  bosom 
friend  phase  had  not  here  come  on  ;  he  told  her  peremptorily 
that  she  had  better  look  sharp  and  bring  it  about. 

"  But  I  can't,"  she  protested.  "  I  told  you  she  is  stand- 
offish and  stuck  up." 

"  Oh,  rot !  "  Alexander  retorted.  "  You  haven't  cottoned 
to  her,  you  mean.  Ask  her  to  tea,  give  her  cakes  and 
cream,  and  gossip.  She'll  give  herself  away,  and  Peter  too, 
if  she  knows  anything." 

"  I  hate  her,"  Gladys,  who  had  been  a  silent  listener, 
here  announced. 

"  You  go  to  bed,"  her  father  said. 

Gladys  gathered  her  hat  and  gloves  with  a  show  of 
obedience  and  a  lingering  manner.  She  knew  precisely  how 
long  to  take.  "  She  has  large  hands,"  she  said,  "  and  eyes 
that  you  have  to  look  at  and  look  at,  and  Uncle  Peter 
likes  her " 

Alexander  moved,  and  Gladys  hastily  withdrew,  but  her 
mother  laughed.  "  Even  the  child  has  found  out  the  sort 
of  person  she  is,"  she  said,  "  though  she's  wrong  about  your 
brother  ;  he  doesn't  pay  the  slightest  attention  to  her." 

258 


DESIRE 

Alexander  did  not  care  if  he  did,  that  side  of  the  question 
did  not  interest  him  ;  to  have  his  orders  obeyed  was  all  that 
concerned  him  just  now.  "Look  here,"  he  said,  "I'll  have 
no  more  bunkum.  What  if  the  woman  is  a  damned  sight 
better  looking  than  you,  and  pays  a  pound  or  two  more  for 
her  clothes  ?  That's  neither  here  nor  there,  it  isn't  business, 
and  this  is — do  you  understand  ? " 

Mrs.  Alexander  sniffed  a  little,  but  made  no  other  reply 
except  to  mutter  to  herself  something  about  "  owing  it  to 
the  child  to  be  particular,  even  if  her  own  feelings  were  of 
no  account,"  and  "  she  never  could  bear  stuck-up  people." 

And  about  the  same  time  or  a  little  later  Desire  was 
confessing  to  Peter — 

"  I  never  knew  I  was  proud  before  ;  I  never  knew  I  had  it 
in  me  to  feel  snobbishly  that  any  one  *  was  not  good  enough.' 
I  am  heartily  and  entirely  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I  believe, 
yes,  I  do,  that  if  I  have  to  see  that  woman  again  I  shall  do  it 
again.  I  think  almost  I'd  rather  have  to  do  with  Alexander." 

"  You  don't  know  him,"  Peter  reminded  her  ;  "  though 
certainly,"  he  added,  "  one  knows  more  where  one  is  with 
him.  She — well  she  seemed  rather  a  foolish  sort  of  person 
to  me.  I  believe,  by  the  way,  that  was  one  of  the  reasons 
why  my  father  objected  to  the  marriage." 

"  Your  father  was  a  wise  man,"  Desire  said  ;  "  a  real  fool 
is  an  awful  and  incurable  thing  ;  but  he  would  have  objected 

to  that  woman,  anyhow — and  your  mother It  made  me 

just  sick  to  see  her  with  your  mother.  As  for  the  child,  it 
was  pitiful  !  I  wanted  to  shake  her  and  tell  her  to  pretend 
a  little,  even  if  she  couldn't  feel  decent." 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Peter  said. 

"  Sorry  for  your  mother  ?  "  Desire  asked.  "  That's  too 
small  a  word.  The  child  is  an  awful  pity  ;  the  woman  of 
course  does  not  matter.  It  doesn't  matter  to  us  if  she  is  an 

259 


DESIRE 

inferior  imitation  of  a  poor  artificiality,  a  thing  without  any 
inside,  and  somehow  so  vulgar.  But  no,  I  ought  not  to  say 
that ;  I  don't  know  her,  no  doubt  she's  better  some  other 
way  round  though  I  haven't  got  at  it.  She  is — she's  just 
a  woman  I  can't  do  with." 


260 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  Alexander  Grimstones  were  at  last  really  settled  at 
Twy cross.  And  when  the  delinquencies  of  the  moving 
men  and  the  difficulties  with  the  cistern  were  forgotten 
in  the  excitement  of  being  called  upon  and  calling,  Mrs. 
Alexander  was  not  ill  satisfied.  As  well  satisfied,  in  fact, 
as  it  is  possible  for  one  whose  every  domestic  molehill 
is  a  mountain  and  whose  general  incompetency  supplies 
plenty  of  small  excrescences.  Whether  or  no  Alexander 
was  satisfied  did  not  appear.  When  it  had  seemed  to  him 
advisable  to  concede  to  his  wife's  often  expressed  wish  to 
live  away  from  the  pottery  town  and  his  work,  he  had 
himself  chosen  Twycross  as  a  place  of  residence.  No  doubt 
he  had  his  reason.  One,  possibly,  was  a  wish  to  appear  on 
good  terms  with  the  parent  family  if  not  the  parent  firm — 
and  in  this  he  was  fairly  successful,  for  no  one  knew  the 
Grimstones  intimately  and  everybody  was  ready  to  accept 
him  at  his  own  valuation.  Another  reason  may  have  been 
a  wish  to  annoy  Peter  by  his  proximity,  and  a  third  was 
certainly  some  notion  of  keeping  an  eye  on  Grimstones'. 

In  this  last  he  did  not  entirely  succeed.  He  learnt  a 
certain  amount  about  them  it  is  true ;  but  principally  he 
learnt  it  in  town  and  in  pursuit  of  business,  he  did  not  at 
Twycross  get  any  nearer  the  inner  side  of  their  life,  and  he 
knew  quite  well  that  it  was  the  inner  side  that  mattered  to 
him.  He  had  begun  establishing  some  sort  of  intimacy 
between  the  household  and  his  own  through  his  mother  and 

261 


DESIRE 

by  means  of  Gladys.  But  somehow  nothing  came  of  it ;  it 
had  had  to  be  left  to  Florence  and  she  of  course  muddled  it ; 
she  had  been  invited  once,  but  that  was  the  beginning  and 
end  of  the  intercourse.  Mrs.  Grimstone  never  came  to  the 
River  House,  she  said  it  was  too  far  and  she  could  not  leave 
her  husband  for  so  long ;  Alexander  did  not  believe  it,  but 
he  did  not  see  how  to  alter  it.  Desire  Quebell  did  not  come 
either,  although,  in  pursuance  of  his  orders,  Florence  invited 
her  to  tea.  The  invitation  was  refused  by  return  of  post 
and  Florence  was  offended  by  the  wording  of  the  refusal, 
Alexander  did  not  know  or  care  why ;  the  thing  was  quite 
plain,  Florence  had  made  a  muddle  of  it.  She  had  obviously 
made  a  muddle  of  her  own  first  visit,  too,  for  the  invitation 
to  her  and  Gladys  was  not  repeated. 

"  You  must  have  made  a  fool  of  yourself,  a  worse  fool 
than  usual,"  he  told  her  one  evening  towards  the  end  of 
November  ;  "  here's  six  weeks  nearly  gone  and  the  old  lady's 
shown  no  sign  of  wanting  the  kid  again." 

Florence  said  something  about  Miss  Quebell  and  spiteful- 
ness,  but  Alexander  was  contemptuous. 

"  It's  no  affair  of  hers,  besides,  if  she  can  scratch  I  suppose 
you  can  too.  You  didn't  expect  they  were  all  going  to 
receive  you  with  open  arms,  did  you  ?  I  tell  you  what 
you've  got  to  do,  you've  got  to  go  again  without  an  invitation 
since  you  can't  get  one  to  go  with.  Go  to-morrow  and  take 
the  kid " 

"  Oh,  Alexander  ! "  Mrs.  Alexander  protested  in  some 
dismay.  Indeed,  she  protested  as  much  as  she  dared.  The 
roads  were  very  muddy,  the  afternoons  were  short  and  dark, 
she  was  invited  out  to  tea  that  day.  But  Alexander  was  not 
moved,  rather  he  was  the  more  determined  that  she  was  to 
go  to-morrow.  Another  day  would  do  as  well  ?  Perhaps 
it  might,  but  he  wasn't  going  to  wait  for  another  day  when 

262 


DESIRE 

it  might  rain  or  she  might  have  an  appointment  with  the 
dressmaker  or  some  other  faddle.  He  had  said  to-morrow 
and  to-morrow  she  should  go,  he  usually  meant  what  he 
said,  as  she  knew  if  she  thought  about  it.  She  did  know  it 
very  well  indeed,  so  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter. 

Now  as  it  chanced  some  other  day  might  have  been 
better  for  Alexander's  purpose,  for  the  one  chosen  happened 
to  be  one  of  Ezra's  bad  days.  The  invalid's  condition  varied 
very  little  as  a  rule,  but  now  and  then  there  were  times  when 
there  seemed  a  partial  break  in  his  lethargy  and  with  it 
indications  of  a  suffering  the  cause  and  cure  of  which  were 
alike  impossible  to  understand.  At  these  times  Mrs.  Grim- 
stone  never  left  his  side  and  Mary  did  not  hesitate  to  refuse 
her  to  any  one  if  by  rare  chance  she  was  asked  for.  When 
Mrs.  Alexander  presented  herself  that  November  afternoon 
and  asked  for  her  mother-in-law  she  was  promptly  and 
plainly  told  she  could  not  see  her. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said  in  some  dismay.  "  Can't  I  ?  Can't  I 
really  ?  I'm  sure  she'd  see  me." 

Mary  was  sure  she  would  not  and  said  so  curtly. 

"  Oh  dear  !  "  Mrs.  Alexander  exclaimed  pettishly — "  And 
it's  such  a  way  to  come  for  nothing.  I'm  so  tired  ! " 

Mary  held  the  door  half  to,  she  was  never  hospitably 
inclined  and  she  would  not  have  approved  of  this  visitor  at 
any  time.  However,  Mrs.  Alexander  was  not  to  be  refused, 
she  said  she  must  come  in  and  rest,  and  in  she  came.  Mary 
was  for  putting  her  in  the  chilly  drawing-room,  but  in  the 
hall  she  asked  for  Peter  and  then  for  Miss  Quebell. 

"  They're  in  the  office,"  Mary  answered  ;  "  busy." 

"  Don't  disturb  them,"  Mrs.  Alexander  said.  Mary  had 
shown  no  signs  of  being  about  to  do  so.  "  I'll  go  and  speak 
to  them  there,"  and  she  pushed  past  the  indignant  old 
woman.  She  knew  where  the  office  was,  she  had  asked  on 

263 


DESIRE 

her  previous  visit,  and  now,  before  Mary  had  recovered 
herself,  she,  with  Gladys  following  closely,  made  her  way 
there. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?  "  she  said  archly,  popping  her  head 
round  the  door  ;  but  she  came  as  she  said  it. 

44  We've  come  to  hear  how  you  all  are,"  she  announced, 
"and  as  we  can't  see  Grannie  to-day  we  persuaded  Old 
Grumps  to  let  us  come  in  and  rest,  we're  ready  to  drop." 

Desire  looked  up,  there  was  both  anger  and  astonishment 
in  her  face,  it  looked  as  if  she  resented  this  as  an  unwarrant- 
able intrusion  ;  she  did  not  trouble  to  say  anything  at  all. 

Peter  rose.  4<  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  you  must  be  tired  ; 
please  come  into  the  dining-room  and  rest  as  long  as  you 
like." 

He  held  the  door  open,  and  before  Mrs.  Alexander  was 
fully  aware  what  had  happened  he  had  taken  them  to  the 
dining-room. 

He  drew  chairs  to  the  fire  for  them.  "You  will  like 
some  tea,"  he  said  j  "  I  will  tell  Mary." 

He  went  out  as  he  spoke,  and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

Mrs.  Alexander  looked  round,  she  wondered  why  he  had 
not  rung  the  bell  and  given  the  order  ;  it  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  he  had  gone  not  to  return.  But  he  did  not  return  ; 
no  one  came  except,  later,  Mary  with  the  tea.  It  dawned 
on  Mrs.  Alexander  very  slowly,  but  at  last  it  did  dawn  on 
her — no  one  was  coming.  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  up-stairs 
with  her  husband,  Peter  and  <4  the  woman  "  were  busy  with 
work  ;  they  had  supplied  her  with  a  chair  and  a  cup  of  tea, 
but  they  were  going  to  do  no  more,  they  were  not  going  to 
leave  their  occupation  on  her  account.  It  was  abominable  ! 
It  was  an  insult  !  It  was  precisely  the  sort  of  thing  that 
made  her  more  angry  than  anything  else,  far  more  angry 
than  many  greater  and  juster  causes  of  offence  and  more  real 

264 


DESIRE 

affronts.     She  almost  choked  over  her  tea  in  her  anger  at  the 
realization  of  the  fruitlessness  of  her  coming. 

She  did  not  at  once  accept  her  humiliation,  she  even  at 
one  time  had  some  thought  of  staying  on  and  compelling 
Peter  and  Desire  to  see  her — which,  no  doubt,  they  would 
have  done  when  their  work  was  finished,  there  being  nothing 
personal  in  their  proceedings.  But  she  gave  that  up  after  a 
little,  though  she  stuck  to  her  position  for  a  time.  She  dried 
her  boots — totally  inadequate  ones  for  the  occasion — she  took 
the  tea  grudgingly  provided  by  Mary,  and  waited  for  some 
while.  But  at  last  her  dignity  and  her  patience  gave  out, 
and  she  rang  sharply. 

"  I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  she  said  sarcastically  to  Mary. 
"  Tell  Mr.  Peter  and  Miss  Quebell  that  I'm  sorry  I  couldn't 
spend  the  evening  here.  Tell  them  I'm  glad  they  didn't 
disturb  themselves  on  my  account." 

Mary  grunted,  there  was  not  the  least  chance  of  the 
message  getting  through  in  that  form.  But  the  giver  did 
not  know  that ;  she  walked  to  the  door,  with  a  haughty  mien 
— sadly  wasted  on  the  old  woman  who  was  looking  at  the 
mud  on  the  bottom  of  her  skirt — and  set  out  on  her  home- 
ward way.  The  haughtiness  was  all  gone  before  she  reached 
home,  and,  as  Gladys  could  have  testified,  only  the  temper 
remained  and  that  had  cooled  to  self-pity  and  a  trace  of 
complacency,  too,  before  Alexander  came  home. 

"  I  told  you  it  would  be  no  good,"  she  reminded  him, 
after  narrating  the  affair.  "  I  told  you  that  the  woman 
was  a  cat  and  that  it  was  madness  for  us  to  go  dragging 
up  there  with  the  roads  a  mass  of  mud  and  the  days  as 
short  as  can  be." 

<c  You'd  tell  any  one  it  was  madness  for  you  to  do 
anything  you  don't  want  to,"  Alexander  replied,  "  and  I 
could  tell  'em  it  was  madness  to  expect  you  to  do  anything 

265 


DESIRE 

at  all ;  I  might  have  known  better  by  this  time.  You  can't 
even  make  friends  with  a  woman  when  you're  wanted  to, 
though  you  can  be  as  thick  as  thieves  with  every  cackling 
ninny  when  there's  nothing  in  it  but  waste  of  time." 

Mrs.  Alexander  sniffed  a  little.  "I'm  sure  I've  tried  to 
be  friends,"  she  said  superiorly  ;  "  but  she's  not  my  sort. 
I  may  not  be  clever  but  I  was  brought  up  properly,  and 
I'm  not  used  to  those  sort  of  persons ;  I  have  nothing  in 
common  with  them.  And,  anyhow — "  dropping  to  a  less 
assertive  tone  at  the  sight  of  Alexander's  fcce — "  anyhow, 
I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  have  told  me  anything  you  want 
to  know.  I  don't  believe  she  knows  it." 

"  Then,  as  usual,  you're  wrong,"  her  husband  retorted. 
"  I  wouldn't  mind  betting  a  trifle  she  could  tell  one  or 
two  things  I  want  to  know  ;  but  she  wouldn't,  not  to 
you,  you're  right  there.  Even  some  women  have  sense 
enough  to  know  a  fool  when  they  see  one,  it  seems." 

Mrs.  Alexander's  already  wounded  dignity  smarted, 
principally  because  she  thought  her  husband  implied  an 
exaltation  of  Miss  Quebell's  intelligence  above  her  own. 
This  she  felt  was  too  much,  and  she  relapsed  into  sulks, 
which  did  not  matter  to  Alexander ;  on  the  whole  it  is 
possible  he  preferred  her  sulky,  for  she  was  quieter  so.  He 
paid  no  further  attention  to  her  that  evening  but  gave 
himself  up  to  his  own  concerns. 

These  concerns,  as  usual  just  now,  had  reference  to 
Grimstones'.  All  his  leisure,  all  his  spare  thoughts  and 
extra  energies,  and  some  others  besides,  were  centred  round 
the  old  firm  :  it  was  never  long  absent  from  his  mind.  He 
meant  to  have  it ;  he  meant  to  do  all  he  had  promised  him- 
self, and  threatened  his  father  and,  more  recently,  threatened 
Peter  ;  partly  because  he  could  see  that  he  might  eventually 
profit  largely,  but  partly  also  from  motives  of  spite  and  sheer 

266 


DESIRE 

obstinacy.  The  spite  had  first  been  for  his  father,  later, 
when  Peter  refused  his  overtures  and  definitely  ranged  him- 
self on  the  other  side,  a  share  had  been  transferred  to  him — 
a  pretty  large  share,  not  unmixed  with  angry  contempt,  for 
one  so  obviously  inferior,  who  had  the  hardihood  to  oppose 
him.  Of  course  the  ultimate  end  was  inevitable,  that  was 
plain  at  the  time  of  Ezra's  first  stroke.  It  was  made  plainer 
and  nearer,  too,  when  the  second  stroke  occurred.  Alexander, 
though  he  would  not,  of  course,  have  deliberately  brought 
that  catastrophe  about,  did  not,  after  the  first  shock,  regret 
that  he  had  accidentally  done  so  :  it  was  too  advantageous. 
He  had  not  scrupled  to  take  advantage  of  it  immediately 
and  fully,  and  of  Peter's  ignorance  and  the  weak  state  of 
the  firm  ;  but  some  one  had  stepped  in.  Some  one  had 
come  between  Grimstones'  and  the  difficulties  he  had 
arranged  that  summer  ;  he  had  not  been  able  to  find  out 
who.  He  had  an  account  to  settle  with  that  some  one  : 
he  had  spoiled  a  good  move.  There  were  other  moves, 
or  course  :  Alexander  was  a  man  likely  to  know  them  j  he 
had  gone  into  the  matter  thoroughly  and  given  time  and 
trouble  to  it,  and  not  spared  some  outlay  ;  it  was  only 
natural  he  should  succeed,  for  he  also  brought  a  not  incon- 
siderable ability,  and  no  scruples,  to  bear  on  the  matter. 
For  some  while  now  he  had  been  working,  it  was  time, 
he  felt,  that,  to  a  watchful  connoisseur  like  himself,  some 
small  result  should  show.  But  so  far  there  was  none. 
Grimstones'  apparently  had  swallowed  the  bait  he  spread, 
fallen  into  the  traps  he  prepared,  and  yet  held  their  own 
as  well,  better,  rather,  than  ever.  The  watchful  Alexander 
observed  it  and  wondered,  swearing.  The  end,  of  course, 
was  inevitable,  but  it  was  beginning  to  look  as  if  it  might 
be  longer  coming  than  he  had  anticipated.  With  Peter 
on  one  side  and  himself  on  the  other  it  would  have  come 

267 


DESIRE 

quickly  enough  ;  the  delay  could  only  mean  one  thing,  there 
was  some  one  else  in  it. 

Alexander's  jaw  closed  down  as  he  sat  thinking,  while 
his  wife,  unnoticed  by  him,  withdrew  to  bed  in  injured 
silence.  Some  one  else  !  Dodd  had  hinted  that  there  was 
some  other  interest  in  the  old  concern.  He  at  least  must 
have  believed  in  it  himself  else  he  would  have  come  to 
terms.  Alexander  cursed  Dodd  heartily  ;  if  he  could  have 
bought  him  it  would  have  simplified  matters  and  hastened 
them  considerably.  He  cursed  him  again  that  evening,  and 
also  cursed  the  some  one  unknown.  No  suspicion  of  Desire 
as  that  person  occurred  to  him,  had  it  done  so  he  would 
have  been  far  less  uneasy  j  women,  even  those  with  more 
sense  than  Florence,  were  always  negligible  factors.  This 
one,  in  his  opinion,  was  less  than  nothing  ;  probably  she  was 
letting  Peter  keep  her,  respectably  or  otherwise,  it  didn't 
matter  which,  because  she  could  not  at  the  time  find 
any  one  better  to  do  it.  Her  sole  importance  to  him  was 
that  no  doubt  she  knew  a  little  of  what  he  wanted  to 
know,  and  could  probably  supply  the  name  of  the  some  one 
and  indicate  the  motive  power  which  was  holding  Grim- 
stones'  together.  Peter  was  sure  to  have  been  fool  enough 
to  tell  her,  and  she  was  sure  to  have  been  induced  to  talk 
if  Florence  had  been  any  good,  as  she  wasn't. 

"  Twenty  minutes  in  that  office  ! "  The  idea  came 
suddenly  to  Alexander  ;  it  would  be  better  than  all  the 
talking  in  the  world  ;  it  was  doing  the  thing  first  hand,  and 
there  is  nothing  like  it.  Twenty  minutes.  One  could 
learn  everything  ;  why,  ten  would  do  !  Twenty  minutes 
would  give  time  to  get  some  notion  of  the  more  recent 
customers,  too  ! 

For  a  moment  Alexander  turned  the  thought  with  appre- 
ciation, but  it  was  hazardous.  Peter,  it  is  true,  was  slow  to 

268 


DESIRE 

act,  and  had  a  distaste  for  publicity  ;  he  was  not  likely  to 
prove  awkwardly  unpleasant  even  if  any  accident  did  reveal 
things  to  him.  There  was  no  particular  danger,  but 
Alexander  had  a  preference  for  keeping  the  right  side  of  the 
law ;  he  knew  very  well  what  scoundrelism  was  the  right 
side  of  that  fine  line,  and  what  the  wrong,  and  though  he 
may  have  often  approached  the  boundary,  he  never  actually 
crossed  it  from  choice. 

"  We'll  try  the  other  way  first,"  was  his  conclusion. 

The  other  way  was  James. 

James  was  a  new  importation  at  Grimstones'.  He  had 
lately  been  engaged  to  help  with  the  extra  work  which  in 
these  days  was  coming  to  the  old  firm.  Desire  was  opposed 
to  his  engagement ;  with  gluttonous  energy  she  seized  upon 
anything  and  everything,  and  wanted  to  do  it  all ;  she 
resented  having  any  taken  from  her.  For  a  little  Peter 
bowed  to  her  wishes  in  the  matter,  but  subsequently  he 
changed  his  mind  and  insisted  on  James. 

It  was  really  owing  to  the  American,  Julian  Lee  ;  Desire 
considered  that  she  owed  it  to  him,  and  was  proportionately 
displeased  with  him.  Towards  the  end  of  October  Peter 
had  received  a  letter  from  him.  It  was  forwarded  by  the 
publishers  of  The  Dreamer,  for  Lee  did  not  know  his  address 
or  himself  either.  He  wrote  briefly  to  ask  Peter,  if  he  knew 
where  Desire  was,  to  send  on  an  enclosed  letter  to  her. 
There  was  no  particular  explanation  of  the  request  offered  ; 
Peter  did  not  trouble  to  seek  one,  he  simply  handed  the 
letter  to  Desire,  saying — 

"  Some  one  of  the  name  of  Lee  asks  me  to  let  you  have 
this  if  I  know  your  address." 

Desire  frowned.  "  How  tiresome  people  are  !  "  she  said. 
"  I  suppose  he  thinks  he  has  done  something  clever  in 
hunting  me  out." 

269 


DESIRE 

He  did,  if  the  truth  was  known,  for  it  had  been  a  good 
deal  of  trouble.  It  had  cost  him  the  friendship  of  Lady 
Quebell  to  verify  the  chance  aroused  suspicion  that  Desire 
had,  in  a  measure,  disappeared  ;  and  there  had  been  a  con- 
siderable outlay  in  time,  and  some  in  money,  in  finding  out 
the  little  he  had  about  her.  That  was  principally  only  that 
Peter  Grimstone  was  the  one  friend  of  former  times  who 
had  seen  her  between  the  coming  of  her  trouble,  whatever  it 
was,  and  her  leaving  London  for  good  and  all. 

Something  of  the  state  of  his  knowledge,  or  the  want  of  it, 
was  made  plain  in  the  letter  to  Desire,  her  brow  smoothed, 
as,  re-reading,  she  realized  it.  After  all,  it  seemed  he  did  not 
know  much,  and,  anyway,  it  was  nice  of  him  to  remember 
her.  She  had  always  a  surprised  pleasure  in  being  remembered, 
which  was  rather  odd  in  its  perennial  freshness,  seeing  how 
much  and  how  many  emotions  she  aroused.  Lee  wrote  to 
say  he  had  no  idea  when  he  said  good-bye  to  her  in  June 
that  it  was  for  good  and  all.  He  ventured  a  reproof  for  not 
letting  him  or  any  one  else  know.  He  suggested  that  she 
might  at  least  have  allowed  some  of  them  a  chance  of 
showing  their  sympathy  with  any  trouble  she  might  be  in. 
He  also  asked  that  she  would  let  him  come  and  see  her 
wherever  she  was,  not  to  show  a  sympathy  which,  apparently, 
she  did  not  want,  but  because  he  was  tiring  for  a  sight  of 
her.  He  concluded  with  a  postscript — 

"  I  am  still  waiting  for  that  answer,  and  I  shall  keep  on 
waiting  j  though  if  you  are  not  ready  to  give  it  yet,  don't 
let  that  make  any  difference  to  your  seeing  me  ;  that's  for 
my  good." 

A  persistent  person,  Desire  smiled  as  she  folded  his  letter, 
a  likeable  person.  Had  the  old  life  not  melted  and  left  her 
face  to  face  with  other  things  she  might  have  ended  by 

270 


DESIRE 

marrying  him.  Might  have  done  worse  than  marry  him  if, 
as  seemed  probable,  she  must  have  married  somebody  sooner 
or  later. 

Robert  came  in  at  that  moment — some  question  about  an 
invoice.  Desire  threw  the  letter  aside  and  produced  the  re- 
quired paper.  There  were  a  lot  of  things  on  the  desk,  a  lot 
of  correspondence  to  be  attended  to  ;  she  went  to  work  on 
it,  and  Lee's  letter,  having  no  special  place,  was  speedily 
buried  among  other  things  and  forgotten. 

At  the  end  of  a  fortnight  Lee  wrote  again  to  Peter,  and 
Peter  appealed  to  Desire. 

"  That  man,  Lee,"  he  said,  "  writes  to  ask  if  I  sent  you 
his  letter." 

"  Lee  ?  "  For  a  minute  Desire  looked  mystified,  trying  to 
recall  some  customer  with  whom  she  was  in  correspondence. 

"  Julian  Lee,"  Peter  said,  and  she  remembered. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot  all  about  it  !  I  stuffed 
his  letter  away  somewhere  when  I  was  busy  and  never  gave 
it  another  thought.  I  wonder  where  it  is  now  ?  " 

It  was  then  that  Peter  finally  decided  they  must  have 
more  help.  In  vain  Desire  told  him  that  she  was  not  over- 
worked, that  this  was  not  a  case  of  crowding  out,  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  forgetting  things  and  people  when  she  was  in- 
terested in  something  else  ;  the  letter  was  not,  as  he  imagined, 
important,  it  and  its  writer  were  totally  unimportant, 
and  quite  suitably  forgotten.  Peter  stuck  to  his  point,  and 
while  she  wrote,  not  quite  so  pleasantly  as  she  ought,  to  Lee, 
he  made  arrangements  for  the  engagement  of  James. 

James  was  a  nephew  of  Robert  and  Mary,  a  painstaking, 
timid,  rather  sanctimonious  young  man.  A  source  of  some 
astonishment  at  first  to  Desire,  who,  from  plays  and  books — 
the  only  places  where  she  had  before  met  the  qualities — had 
learned  to  associate  them  with  hypocrisy,  cunning  and  un- 

271 


DESIRE 

desirable  traits  of  that  sort.  James  had  none  of  these  ;  he 
was,  it  appeared,  as  virtuous  as  he  seemed,  in  fact,  precisely 
what  he  seemed,  except  that  experience  eventually  proved 
him  to  possess  more  ability  than  one  would  suspect,  and  more 
dogged  loyalty  than  usually  accompanies  timidity.  When 
Desire  had  got  over  her  annoyance  at  his  advent  she  found 
him  very  useful,  for  certainly  it  was  true  that  there  was  a 
great  deal  to  do  just  now.  There  had  been  ever  since  the 
putting  up  of  the  plate  machine.  The  machine,  of  course, 
saved  labour  enormously  ;  but  on  the  other  hand  it  had  in- 
duced them  to  accept  orders  of  a  quite  unprecedented  number 
and  magnitude,  and,  owing  to  Alexander,  such  orders  offered 
themselves.  It  was  a  wonderful  time  at  Grimstones',  the 
little  old  firm  seemed  to  be  waking  to  a  species  of  new  life  ; 
an  inward  sort  of  life,  perhaps,  of  which,  as  of  its  other 
happenings,  outsiders  were  slow  to  hear,  and  in  which  they 
did  not  share,  but  none  the  less  real. 

Desire  thrilled  with  the  feeling  of  it  and  rejoiced.  She 
had  cast  in  her  lot  here  utterly  and  entirely  j  she  had  put 
her  whole  self,  staked  herself  as  it  were,  on  success,  she 
wanted  it  as  she  had  never  wanted  anything  before.  In  the 
main  she  was  a  good  loser ;  in  the  past  she  had  been  able  to 
accept  failure  fairly  well  on  the  few  occasions  when  she  had 
met  with  it  ;  but  in  this  she  found  the  bare  idea  unthinkable. 
But  they  were  succeeding ;  it  was  determined  from  the  first. 
It  was  always  "  they,"  she  and  Peter,  indissolubly  associated 
in  the  furtherance  of  a  thing  which  was  not  really  their  own. 
They  had  an  interest  in  it  but  no  true  possession,  they  worked 
together,  not  for  each  other ;  there  was  a  freedom  and 
equality  in  this  partnership  for  carrying  on  Ezra  Grimstone's 
business  which  may  have  been  absurd — few  things  seemed 
absurd  to  Desire — but  certainly  was  completely  new  to  her. 

There  were  other  things,  too,  which  were   new  to  her 

272 


DESIRE 

experience,  a  new  gift  among  them.     Many  men  had  offered 
her  many  things  in  the  past,  love  and  friendship,  luxury  and 
jewels,  entertainments,  dogs,  amusements,  homage — some  she 
had  accepted,  some  refused,  but  no  man  before  had  offered 
her  work.     Peter  had  offered  her  that,  he  had  offered  her  a 
share  of  his — not  noble  or  inspiring  or  fascinating  work,  just 
his  work,  what  he  had.     He  had  offered  it  her,  called  her 
great  energies  into  play,  and  set  her  to  work  beside  himself 
in  a  furrow.     And  she  was  glad  ;  for  some  reason  she  found 
it  very  good — so  good  that  she  asked  nothing  better — that, 
even,  she  was  afraid  to  look  it  in  the  face  for  fear  it  should 
melt  and  reveal  itself  to  be  something  different ;  that  she  told, 
almost  grudgingly,  the  swift  passing  days — Shortening  days, 
busy,  crammed  with  work  and  interests ;  with  thoughts  and 
talks  too,  interludes  not  to  be  forgotten,  every  margin  of  time 
filled  with  things — not  necessarily  connected  with  pottery  or 
buying  and  selling — Good,  good  days — days  of  wind  and  rain 
often  and  driving  clouds  that  swept  over  the  grey  hills  as  the 
winter  drew  on,  but  always  fine  days  to  some.     The  wind 
is  a  great  friend,  men  who  have  lived  with  it  know  it ;  and 
the  rain — it  has  a  thousand  scents  more  living  than  the  scent 
of  flowers.     And  the  clouds,  and  the  tempests  that  howl 
intermittent,  and  the  stripped  hillsides,  and  the  sudden  sharp 
gleams  of  sun — they  are  friends  a  man's  soul  had  in  the  time 
before  ever  he  came  to  this  habitation  of  flesh.     Peter  knew 
these  things,  he  had  had  them  always  and  shared  them  before 
with  none.     Desire  had  them  now.     And   the  grey  world 
was  very  good. 

But  for  all  that  they  were  not  clear  of  difficulties  ;  neither 
thought  it.  No  one  at  Grimstones'  made  the  mistake  of 
rejoicing  prematurely  over  good  fortune.  They  received 
her  warily  there  and  with  reservations,  as  the  folk  of  those 
parts  receive  sunshine  in  spring-time,  knowing  well  that  there 
18  273 


DESIRE 

are  likely  to  be  clouds  below  the  horizon.  Peter  and 
Desire  did  not  often  talk  of  the  clouds,  it  was  not  their 
way  ;  as  for  Robert,  the  other  speaking  part  of  the  firm,  he 
summed  up  his  opinion  of  the  situation  briefly.  "Alex- 
ander's not  dead  yet,"  he  said,  and  when  he  had  said  it 
evidently  considered  good  fortune  was  qualified  as  much  as 
need  be. 

Alexander  was  not  dead  and  in  early  December  they 
heard  of  him  again.  It  was  through  James.  One  morn- 
ing he  informed  Desire  in  the  precise  tones  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  using,  that  he  had  had  a  conversation  with  Mr. 
Alexander  Grimstone  last  night. 

"  Oh  ? "  said  Desire — she  had  not  the  business  manner 
with  any  man.  "  Did  you  enjoy  it  ?  " 

James  had  the  business  manner,  even  Desire  could  not 
make  him  forget  it ;  he  said  formally  now,  "  Mr.  Alexander 
seemed  desirous  of  entering  into  negotiations  with  me." 
"  What  for  ?  "  Desire  asked. 
"  Information  principally,  I  think,  miss." 
"  Information  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  wants  to  know  who  is  financing  us,  who  is 
interested  in  the  firm  besides  Mr.  Ezra  and  Mr.  Peter. 

"  There  isn't  any  one  interested  but  you  and  me,"  Desire 
said.     "  What  did  he  ask  that  for  ?  " 
"  I  can't  say,  miss." 

There  were  a  great  number  of  things  James  "  could  not 
say  "  ;  Desire  had  observed  it  before,  she  wondered  if  he  had 
been  in  that  position  to  Alexander.  Promptly  she  asked, 
"  Couldn't  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  No,  miss,  I  naturally  could  not  speak  of  the  affairs  of 
the  house  to  him,  I  told  him  so." 

Desire  was  a  little  puzzled,  James's  very  mild  manner  had 
misled  her. 

274 


DESIRE 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  said,  "  that  he  was  trying  to  buy 
information  from  you,  the  names  of  our  customers  and  that 
sort  of  thing  ? " 

"  There  was  no  sum  mentioned,"  James  replied,  "  but  he 
gave  me  to  understand  that  if  it  was  a  question  of  price  there 
need  be  no  difficulty  about  it*w 

Desire  stared  ;  James  certainly  was  an  astonishing  person, 
he  conveyed  the  most  exciting  intelligence  and  the  most 
unexciting  in  the  same  colourless  way. 

"  What  a  butler's  lost  in  him  !  "  she  exclaimed  afterwards 
to  Peter.  "  Nothing  would  surprise  him,  nothing  make 
him  forget  what  was  due  to  his  position  and  yours.  He's 
just  a  wonderful  person,  and  he  is  a  person  too,  that's  the 
wonderful  part ;  he's  something  real,  sterling-butler  right 
through.  I  suppose  Alexander  made  the  mistake  I  did  and 
thought  that  manner  must  cover  something  else.  It  must 
have  been  a  painful  interview  for  Alexander,  almost  as 
humiliating  as  trying  to  make  a  true-bred  butler  drink  with 
you  or  flirt  with  you.  It  is  humiliating  to  be  put  in  your 
place." 

"  I  don't  suppose  Alexander  was  humiliated,"  Peter  said. 
"  I  wonder  what  he  will  try  next." 

"  There's  not  much  left,"  Desire  said  $  "  he's  tried  Dodd 
and  now  James,  he'll  hardly  try  you  or  Robert,  and  I  don't 
count  for  much  to  him." 

"  He'll  try  something,"  Peter  said  with  conviction,  "  he 
must  know  I  should  have  come  to  grief  by  this  time,  con- 
sidering what  he  has  done  to  help,  if  I  had  been  really 
running  this  alone.  He  is  looking  for  some  substantial 
backer  now  ;  he  probably  does  not  reckon  you  as  more  than 
a  clerk  or  a  secretary,  it  would  be  a  man  he's  looking  for,  a 
man  with  money  and  experience.  I  expect  things  have  not 
gone  quite  as  he  anticipated  and  he  wants  to  find  out  who 

275 


DESIRE 

is  interfering.  Lists  of  customers  and  so  on  are  a  mere 
blind,  or  at  all  events  a  by-product,  it's  the  other  he  wants 
to  know." 

"Then  I  don't  much  fancy  he'll  do  it,"  Desire  said 
cheerfully  ;  "  you  and  I  are  the  only  two  people  who  could 
tell,  and  I  don't  think  we  shall.  I  wish  he'd  come  and  call 
on  me  and  try ;  I  haven't  much  taste  for  exchanging  polite 
nothings  with  scoundrels,  but  just  for  once  I  wouldn't  mind. 
I  wish  he'd  come." 

As  it  happened  he  did  come,  but  not  in  the  way  Desire 
meant.  He  did  not  come  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  her  or, 
indeed,  any  one  else.  That  he  found  some  one  was  an 
accident  and  not  part  of  his  plan,  for  failure  in  other  quarters 
at  length  induced  him  to  try  the  last  resource. 

Desire's  room  was  in  the  front  of  the  house.  Usually  she 
slept  well,  better  than  she  had  done  in  the  London  days,  but 
now  and  again  she  had  a  restless  night.  One  such  befell  in 
mid-December.  For  awhile  that  night  she  smoked  and  read 
and  tried  the  various  plans  by  which  she  wooed  sleep  ;  then, 
finding  none  successful,  she  grew  impatient  and  gave  them 
up,  put  out  her  candle  and  lay  on  her  back  staring  at  the 
ceiling.  The  room  was  rather  dark,  though  light  enough 
for  her  to  guess  how  light  it  would  be  on  the  other  side  or 
the  house  where  the  moon  shone  in.  A  big  moon  it  would 
be,  silvering  the  mist  which  always  lay  away  beyond  the 
canal,  and  revealing  every  detail  near  at  hand,  everything  in 
the  yard,  the  very  brands  on  the  packing-cases  and  the 
numbers  of  the  crates  if  there  were  any.  She  began  to 
wonder  if  there  were  any,  or  if  they  had  been  put  under 
shelter  as  they  should  have  been.  Wondering  anything  is 
fatal  to  sleep  ;  the  more  she  did  so  the  more  wide  awake  she 
became.  It  really  did  not  matter  much  about  the  crates 
either  way,  but  in  a  while  it  seemed  to  matter  a  great  deal  ; 

276 


DESIRE 

anything  would  have  mattered,  anything  did.  After  a 
quarter-of-an-hour  of  lying  still  she  at  last  gave  way 
and,  fully  aware  that  she  was  weakly  humouring  herself, 
got  up,  slipped  on  a  white  wrapper  and  quietly  left  her 
room. 

It  was  nearly  three  in  the  morning  and  the  house  was 
very  quiet ;  she  crossed  the  landing  noiselessly,  the  old,  well- 
seasoned  timbers  not  creaking  beneath  her  feet,  and,  lifting 
the  curtain  at  the  back  window,  looked  out  at  the  yard,  all 
black  and  white  in  the  moonlight.  As  she  did  so  a  sound 
caught  her  ear — some  one  moving  below,  a  door — the  office 
door  surely — opening.  She  dropped  the  blind  and  listened. 
Some  one  speaking  ?  She  could  not  be  sure,  it  was  a  quiet 
voice,  if  it  was  one,  only  audible  because  of  the  sleeping 
silence  of  the  house.  She  went  softly  down  the  shorter 
flight  of  stairs.  Peter's  was  the  only  voice  with  the  quiet 
insistence,  and  Peter  had  no  business  to  be  in  the  office  now. 
They  had  made  a  pact  that  neither  should  work  very  early 
or  very  late  without  the  other's  knowledge.  They  had  made 
it  for  the  sake  of  each  other,  each  believing  for  every  one  but 
himself  the  old  adage  about  the  unwisdom  of  burning  the 
candle  at  both  ends.  If  Peter  was  at  work  he  had  broken 
faith  ;  and  if  he  was  not — and  of  course  he  was  not — what 
was  going  on  ? 

Desire  paused  at  the  head  of  the  longer  flight  of  stairs. 
She  could  not  see  the  office  nor  be  seen  from  there,  the  door 
was  round  the  corner  ;  but  she  could  tell  it  was  open  by  the 
light  on  the  hall  floor. 

"  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  you  are  doing  ?  " 

It  was  Peter's  voice,  patient  and  polite,  apparently  repeat- 
ing a  question  he  had  asked  before. 

The  answer  came  in  Alexander's  more  rapid  tones,  ofF- 
hand,  a  trifle  contemptuous,  not  at  all  abashed. 

277 


DESIRE 

"  Paying  you  the  visit  I  didn't  think  you'd  care  to  receive 
in  daylight." 

"In  plain  terms  you  have  broken  into  the  house  to 
ransack  my  desk  ? " 

The  other  laughed.  His  self-possession  was  evidently 
restored — if  it  had  ever  been  lost — by  Peter's  reception. 
"  Your  desk  don't  hold  what  I  want,"  he  said.  "  You  didn't 
think,  did  you,  that  I  wanted  your  petty  cash  ? " 

"  I  think  you  had  better  go." 

There  was  the  smallest  hesitation  over  the  last  word. 
Desire  fancied  it  expressed  more  than  it  said,  but  she  thought 
the  suggestion  inadequate.  She  did  not  know  what  she 
wanted,  or  what,  indeed,  was  possible  in  the  embarrassing 
circumstances  of  finding  a  blood  relation  in  this  situation, 
but  she  felt  that  for  Alexander  merely  to  go  was  poor. 

He  evidently  did  not  entirely  favour  the  suggestion 
himself.  "  I'll  go  when  I'm  ready,"  he  said. 

"  I  think  that  had  better  be  now." 

"  Oh,  do  you !  "  Peter's  voice  was  still  quiet.  But 
Alexander  must  have  felt  a  threat  in  it.  "  Look  here, 
Master  Peter,"  he  said,  "  you  needn't  play  that  to  me  ;  I've 
done  nothing  but  what  I'd  do  any  day  in  daylight  if  you 
weren't  such  a  cantankerous,  suspicious  brute  there's  no 
getting  to  you  or  your  office  on  any  excuse  whatever.  I've 
slipped  in  without  permission  now,  it's  true — what  of  that  ? 
It's  my  father's  house,  I've  done  no  damage,  I  want  nothing 
but  a  glance  at  some  papers  for  the  name  of  a  fool.  You 
can't  do  anything,  so  you  needn't  talk  big  ;  petty  sessions 
wouldn't  give  you  much  of  a  remedy,  even  if  it  was  in  your 
line,  which  it  isn't,  so  the  best  thing  for  you  to  do,  my  son, 
is  to  put  a  good  face  on  it  and  be  civil." 

Desire  suddenly  felt  that  the  best  thing  for  her  to  do  was 
to  come  down  ;  the  presence  of  a  third  party,  one  with  some 

278 


DESIRE 

knowledge  of  the  world,  might  be  an  assistance.  She 
descended  the  stairs  quickly  and,  quietly  crossing  the  dense 
shadow  at  the  bottom,  made  for  the  doorway.  There  she 
paused,  a  startling  figure,  her  glowing  hair  loosely  plaited, 
the  laces  open  about  her  throat,  her  splendid  proportions  but 
half  concealed  by  the  unshackling  garments — a  woman  such 
as  vikings  fought  for  in  the  far  time. 

Alexander  had  seated  himself  carelessly  by  the  desk. 
;c  You're  a  cleverer  man  than  I  took  you  for,"  he  was 
saying ;  "  you  seem  to  have  got  some  money  out  of  your 
lady  friend — generally  they  squeeze  us,  but  you've  managed 

to  squeeze   her "     He  looked    up,   and    even    his  eyes 

lighted  a  little  as  they  fell  on  the  splendid  figure  in  the 
doorway — "  By  Jove  !  There  she  is  !  Come  to  see  why 
you  don't  come  to  bed " 

And  then  the  end  came.  Without  any  warning,  with 
the  seeming  suddenness  which  characterized  some  few  of 
Peter's  actions,  it  fell  upon  Alexander.  He  literally  and 
really  fell  upon  him,  bore  him  down  with  irresistible  force, 
the  long  pent-up  feeling  brought  to  a  head  and  suddenly 
breaking  bonds,  bringing  matters  to  the  arbitrament  that 
Peter  understood. 

Desire  caught  her  breath,  but  she  did  not  cry  out  or 
shrink  back.  Possibly  she  had  in  her  something  of  the 
primal  woman  for  whom  the  vikings  fought.  At  all  events, 
the  only  movement  she  made  was  to  grip  the  dog,  who 
apparently  had  followed  Peter,  and  pull  him  back,  stifling  his 
angry  bark. 

Alexander  recovered  quickly  from  his  surprise  ;  he  was 
breathing  short,  his  face  curiously  grey,  with  blood  on  the 
lips  and  a  light  as  of  murder  in  the  eyes,  bad  to  see.  But 
Peter,  very  quiet  and  white  as  he  had  gone  at  Alexander's 
last  words,  was  by  far  the  more  terrible  to  Desire.  She  was 

279 


DESIRE 

not  sure  that  he  was  aware  of  her  presence  until  he  spoke  to 
her  over  his  shoulder — 

"  Take  the  dog  and  go  up-stairs,"  he  said  authoritatively. 

And  meekly  she  obeyed,  closing  the  door  after  her. 

She  went  up-stairs  and  sat  down  at  the  top,  clasping  her 
hands  round  the  dog's  neck  and  ordering  him  to  be  quiet. 
He  obeyed,  only  panting  as  if  the  effort  were  great ;  in  the 
dark  she  heard  him  and  sympathized,  for  she,  too,  was  thrill- 
ing with  excitement,  her  heart  beating  fast  and  the  blood 
racing  in  her  veins.  She  did  not  know  what  the  two  down 
below  would  do,  she  could  only  vaguely  hear  and  did  not 
know  what  the  end  would  be.  But  she  was  not  afraid — it 
was,  after  all,  the  simplest  ending,  the  only  ending.  She  leaned 
her  head  against  the  wall  and  gave  a  little  shuddering  laugh. 
It  was  horrible,  of  course,  to  come  to  blows ;  brutal.  She  had 
never  found  the  brute  in  Peter  before,  it  was  not  horrible  to 
find  it,  she  was  not  horrified,  she  was — yes,  she  was  glad  it 
was  there.  Ashamed  that  she  was  glad,  perhaps,  but  not 
very.  She  never  analyzed  her  emotions,  she  certainly  did 
not  now.  She  sat  in  the  dark,  thrilling  as  the  dog  thrilled, 
and  waited. 

A  door  across  the  landing  opened  softly,  the  door  of  the 
dressing-room  leading  from  Ezra's  room.  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
who  slept  there  now,  looked  out,  candle  in  hand.  Desire 
rose  at  the  first  sound.  "  Lie  still,"  she  said  with  low-voiced 
emphasis  to  Paddy,  and  leaving  him  she  crossed  the  landing 
swiftly,  keeping  in  the  shadow  and  so  coming  close  to  the 
old  lady  before  she  was  aware  whence  she  had  come  or 
hardly  that  she  was  there. 

"  Were  you  disturbed  by  a  noise  ? "  she  said,  standing 
out  of  the  candle-light.  "  It's  all  right,  it's  only  Peter 
turning  somebody — some  boy  or  some  one — out  of  the  yard." 

"  Oh  ?  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  said  nervously.  "  Hadn't  we 

280 


DESIRE 

better  call  Robert  ?     Don't  you  think  Peter  will  be  hurt  ?    I 
thought  it  was  some  one  in  the  house." 

Desire  ignored  the  last,  but  repeated  her  assurance. 

"  Peter  can  manage  best  alone,"  she  said  ;  "  he  won't  be 
hurt ;  it's  nothing.  Hadn't  you  better  go  back,  because  of 
Mr.  Grimstone  ?  " 

And,  reassured  by  Desire's  manner,  Mrs.  Grimstone  was, 
after  a  few  more  words,  persuaded  to  go  in  again. 

Desire  softly  closed  the  door  after  her,  then  returned  to 
her  post  on  the  stair-head.  She  sat  there  till  she  heard  Peter 
coming  up. 

He  came  slowly,  carrying  no  light. 

"  Well  ? "  she  said,  rising  out  of  the  gloom  as  he  ap- 
proached. She  spoke  softly,  for  fear  of  disturbing  Mrs. 
Grimstone  again,  but  there  was  a  thrill  in  her  voice  that 
surprised  even  her  own  ears. 

Peter  must  have  heard  it,  but  he  gave  no  verbal  answer. 

"  Has  he  gone  ? "  she  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Is  he  hurt  ? " 

"  He  will  remember." 

They  ascended  the  second  flight  of  stairs  together.  It  was 
lighter  here.  Desire  could  see  that  Peter  was  fully  dressed 
and  carried  a  bundle  of  manuscript  papers.  He  must  have 
held  them  in  the  office,  for  she  remembered  now  how  sheets 
had  fallen  like  leaves  when  he  attacked  Alexander. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  she  asked  softly. 

There  was  a  square  patch  of  light  at  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
where  the  moonlight  streamed  in  at  a  window.  She  paused 
in  it,  searching  his  face.  For  a  moment  their  eyes  met,  and 
something  leapt  to  life  in  his. 

"  No,"  he  said.  Then  he  added  suddenly,  with  a  curious 
peremptoriness,  "  Go  to  bed." 

281 


DESIRE 

He  drew  into  the  shadow  as  he  spoke,  and  the  manuscript 
he  held  crackled  under  the  grip  of  his  fingers. 

Without  a  word  Desire  obeyed  him.  She  did  not  run, 
yet  she  had  a  feeling  of  fleeing  ;  her  breath  was  coming  fast 
when  she  reached  her  room,  and  her  heart  beating  in  big 
thumps.  She  climbed  on  to  the  bed  in  the  dark,  and  sat 
there  hugging  herself,  her  blood  racing,  every  nerve  thrilling, 
half  afraid,  half  ashamed,  wholly  glad.  Night  the  wizard, 
passion  and  combat  the  primal,  had  done  it  j  they  had  thrown 
back  the  trappings  and  covers  and  reserves,  they  had  called 
to  the  original  things,  and  showed  them  just  man  and 
woman.  She  knew  and  she  shivered,  laughing.  She  had 
been  engaged  once,  and  had  been  loved  a  good  many  more 
times  than  once,  and  always — as  the  much  loved  do — gone  a 
little  way  towards  reciprocating  the  emotion  j  but  she  had 
never  really  loved  before.  Never  been  foolish  and  mad  and 
glad,  gladder  than  anything  in  the  world,  and  foolishly  proud 
and  foolishly  shy  at  seeing  the  light  spring  in  a  man's  eyes, 
and  knowing  that  he  had  drawn  back  and  bade  her  go  for 
fear  he  should  take  her  in  his  arms  and  kiss  her. 

She  was  also  old  enough  to  know  that  she  would  have 
forgiven  him  if  he  had. 


282 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

' '  QCX)  Brunswick  Square,  W.  C 

"Mr  DEAR  DESIRED 

"  Tour  father' $  lawyers  have  at  last  succeeded  in  getting 
me  information  as  to  your  recent  doings  and  present  whereabouts. 
While  deploring  the  precipitousness  of  your  proceedings,  which  I 
must  characterize  as  somewhat  ill-judged  and  unsuitable,  I  at 
the  same  time  approve  the  independent  spirit  which  led  you  to 
seek  to  maintain  yourself  even  as  a  typist.  I  cannot,  however, 
regard  it  as  a  proper  course  for  your  father's  daughter.  I  do 
not  forget — as  presumably  does  Lady  Quebell — that  you  are,  in 
spite  of  the  accident  of  your  birth,  Sir  Joseph's  only  child,  and 
brought  up  by  his  wish  in  circumstances  and  surroundings  suited 
to  his  legitimate  daughter.  I  therefore  write  to  offer  you  a  home. 
I  suggest  that  you  terminate  your  present  engagement  and  come 
to  me  as  soon  as  possible.  I  propose  to  pay  you,  during  the  time 
that  the  arrangement  proves  satisfactory,  two  hundred  pounds 
a  year  for  your  private  expenses,  and  in  consideration  of  various 
small  services  I  may  require.  It  would  also  be  understood  that 
I  made  suitable,  though  moderate,  provision  for  you  at  my  death. 
«  /  am, 

"  Tours  sincerely, 

"PHCEZE  QUEBELL" 

This  was  the  letter  Desire  received  at  the  end  of  Decem- 
ber, and  very  pleased  she  was  to  receive  it.  Not  that  she 
had  any  idea  of  accepting  the  offer  it  contained,  but  because 

283 


DESIRE 

she  was  delighted  with  the  remembrance  of  herself  that  it 
showed,  with  the  old  lady's  generosity  and  also  her  spirit. 

"  Well  done,  Cousin  Phoebe  !  "  she  said.  "  The  old  dear 
has  taken  the  field  in  style,  and  I'm  not  worth  it  a  bit  in  the 
world.  My  hat !  But  she  must  have  given  the  step-mother 
a  bad  quarter  of  an  hour,  a  very  bad  one — and  she  means 
to  give  her  more  !  " 

She  threw  the  letter  over  to  Peter  as  she  spoke.  "  Read 
it,"  she  said. 

He  read  it  and  returned  it. 

"  I  am  glad — for  you,"  he  said. 

"  I'm  glad  all  round,"  Desire  returned,  "  except  of  course 
for  the  step-mother.  Cousin  Phoebe's  a  brick.  There  was 
good  stuff  in  my  father's  family — good  stuff,  but  autocratic, 
they  don't  like  being  contradicted.  I'm  afraid  she  won't 
like  being  refused,  though,  if  she  would  only  realize  it,  it  is 
no  end  of  a  let  off  for  her." 

"  You  will  refuse  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  Why  certainly,"  Desire  said.  "  You  don't  think  I'm 
going  out  of  Grimstones',  do  you  ;  just  as  it's  commencing 
to  pay  and  the  fun's  properly  beginning  ?  " 

"  It's  never  going  to  pay  much,"  Peter  told  her,  "  and 
you  know  it  ;  it  may  be,  I  think  it  will  be,  a  living,  but 
never  much  more.  And  anyhow " 

Desire  stopped  him.  "  You  needn't  go  on,"  she  said  ; 
"  I  know  all  about  that." 

But  Peter  did  go  on.  "  It  is  not  right  you  should  refuse 
such  an  offer  on  that  account,"  he  said.  "  This  is  not  the 
work  or  the  life  for  you " 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  Desire  interrupted,  "  a  good  deal  more  so 
than  being  companion  to  Cousin  Phoebe  \  " 

"  It   is  not   being  companion   only,"   Peter  said,    "  it  is 

really  getting  back  to  where  you  came  from " 

284 


DESIRE 

"  Brunswick  Square  ?  "  Desire  laughed.  "  Do  you  know 
where  Brunswick  Square  is  ?" 

"  It  does  not  matter  to  you  where  the  house  is,  you  could 
have  just  as  much  of  your  old  life  as  you  liked  wherever  it 
was." 

"  On  two  hundred  a  year  ?  Dress  and  gamble  on  two 
hundred  a  year  ?  " 

"  You  can  match  expenditure  and  income  if  you  want  to, 
and  as  for  dress — does  it  matter  what  you  wear  ?  You  are 
always  you." 

Desire  quitted  the  position  of  argument.  "  Well,  I'm 
not  going,  anyhow,"  she  announced  with  finality. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  why  ? "  Peter  asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  to.  By  the  way,  do  you  want 
me  to  ? " 

"  Yes." 

Desire  looked  him  in  the  face.  "  That,"  she  said,  "  is 
the  first  lie  I  have  heard  you  tell." 

"  It  is  not  a  lie,"  he  retorted  ;  "  I  do  want  you  to  go,  I 
think  it  would  be  the  best,  the  right  thing " 

"  Oh,"  said  Desire,  "  is  that  what  you  call  wanting  ? 
When  I  say  I  want  anything  I  mean  I  think  I  should  find 
it  personally  agreeable,  exciting,  pleasant  and  altogether — or 
at  least  somehow — delicious.  Now,  though  I'm  frequently 
an  awful  nuisance  to  you,  I  flatter  myself  you  wouldn't 
find  it  all  that  to  be  rid  of  me.  When  you  say  you  want  a 
thing  it  appears  you  mean  you  have  a  sense  of  duty  that  way. 
Well,  as  I  never  paid  much  attention  to  my  own  sense  of 
duty  it's  not  likely  I'm  going  to  begin  paying  any  to  yours." 

Peter,    from    previous   experience,  had  some    reason    to 

think  this  likely  to  be  the  case  ;  and  his  personal  feelings 

But  he  kept  them  severely  in  the  background  and  took  up 
the  argument  again. 

285 


DESIRE 

'*  We  never  intended  this  should  be  anything  but  a  tem- 
porary arrangement,"  he  said  ;  "  it  couldn't  under  any 
circumstances  be  permanent,  we  only  meant  it  to  last  until 
we  had  something  suitable  and  definite  fixed.  Affairs  are 
in  splendid  going  order  now,  principally  thanks  to  you,  you 
could  not  leave  at  a  better  time,  and,  since  the  chance  has 
come,  you  ought  to  go.  Here  there  is  nothing  ;  there  there 
is  everything.  You  see,  there  is  the  future  to  look  to.  You 
may  marry " 

Desire's  eyes  flickered,  she  bent  over  some  papers  so  he 
did  not  see.  "  Yes,  I  may,"  she  said  quietly,  "  but  I 
shan't." 

It  was  nearly  two  weeks  now  since  the  night  when 
Alexander  came ;  the  night  when  she  had  sat  long  on  her 
bed  with  her  new  discovered  secret ;  but  Peter  had  never 
given  either  word  or  sign.  She  had  almost  begun  to  doubt 
if  there  had  been  that  one,  if  she  had  seen  that  momentary 
ftash  of  revelation.  Peter  was  exactly  the  same  as  he  had 
been  before,  curiously,  singularly  intimate  with  an  intimacy 
she  had  never  known  before  and  a  friendship  which  was  the 
rarest  of  the  rare,  but  nothing  else.  Perhaps — the  idea  was 
possible — it  was  only  her  own  unbridled  fancy,  her  own 
desire,  which  had  in  imagination  seen  what  it  was  fain  to 
see.  But  she  did  not  really  believe  that,  she  was  perfectly 
and  inwardly  sure  of  the  reality.  She  could  not  understand. 
It  did  not  enter  into  her  scheme  of  things  that  a  man, 
believing  himself  in  every  way  her  inferior,  should  not 
quickly  understand  that  she  cared  for  him  that  way  ;  or 
that,  remembering  the  converse  mistake  of  other  men,  him- 
self mistook  for  friendship  what  was  something  more. 
Certainly  it  did  not  enter  into  her  scheme  that  such  a  man, 
even  if  he  thought  she  had  some  passing  fancy  for  him, 
would  not  ask  her  to  tie  herself  to  a  narrow  life  burdened 

286 


DESIRE 

with  poverty  and  failing  parents.  Such  a  solution  of  the 
mystery  never  occurred  to  Desire,  who  herself,  even  if  she 
had  been  of  the  blood  royal,  would  unhesitatingly  have  taken 
the  road  with  a  tinker  had  it  happened  to  be  a  case  of  love 
and  he  could  be  induced  to  declare  his  passion.  Conse- 
quently she  was  restless  and  perplexed,  at  ti:mes  unhappy, 
though  she  did  not  want  anything  undone,  and  did  not  want 
to  go  back  to  things  as  they  had  been.  Certainly  she  had 
no  idea  of  leaving  Twycross,  that  was  not  her  notion  of  a 
solution.  At  no  time  during  the  past  months  was  Miss 
Quebell's  proposal  likely  to  be  accepted  j  there  was  not  the 
least  chance  of  it  now. 

"I'm  not  going,"  so  Desire  announced  finally,  "until 
we're  done  with  Alexander." 

Peter  had  his  back«to  her,  yet  somehow  she  felt  that  he 
was  very  glad,  but  all  he  said  was,  "If  you  stay  till  then 
you'll  stay  a  long  while,  for  we  shan't  be  done  with  him  till 
we're  dead,  or  he  is." 

"  Think  not  ? "  Desire  said  cheerfully.  "  Well,  you  can't 
exactly  work  for  the  furtherance  of  that  end  even  to  achieve 
the  getting  rid  of  me.  Alexander,  in  your  place,  might 
perhaps." 

Alexander's  name  had  been  very  little  mentioned  between 
them  since  the  night  that  he  came  unbidden  to  the  office. 
Desire  had  not  heard  any  details  of  what  happened  then. 
She  knew  on  her  own  account  that  it  was  not  accumulated 
offences  against  himself,  his  father  and  the  firm,  which 
finally  broke  down  Peter's  control  that  night  and  led  him  to 
strike,  but  the  one  insult  to  herself.  No  one  told  her  this, 
but  she  knew  it  quite  well,  though  she  knew  little  besides. 
Peter  had  only  explained  that  he  had  happened  to  be 
re-reading  the  manuscript  of  the  unfinished  novel  that 
evening.  He  had  meant  to  do  so  for  some  while,  but  never 

287 


DESIRE 

found  the  time ;  that  night  she  herself  had  gone  to  bed 
early,  so  he  had  fetched  the  manuscript,  and,  becoming 
absorbed  in  it,  sat  late.  Alexander  must  have  approached 
the  house  from  the  back,  and  if  he  reconnoitred  in  front 
first,  had  not  seen  any  light  by  reason  of  the  shutters.  The 
first  indication  Peter  had  of  an  intruder's  presence  was  the 
uneasiness  of  Paddy,  who  was  with  him.  The  first  indica- 
tion Alexander  had  of  any  one  still  up  in  the  house  was 
Peter's  appearance  in  the  doorway.  This  Peter  told  ;  what 
happened  after  she  left  them  at  his  bidding  he  did  not  tell 
her.  She  could  see  for  herself  that  Peter  had  sustained 
comparatively  little  damage ;  and  she  could  guess  that 
Alexander  had  sustained  a  good  deal,  since  it  was  reported 
about  that  time  that  he  had  met  with  some  sort  of  accident. 
Mr.  Williams  condoled  with  Mrs.  Grimstone  on  the  subject 
the  following  Sunday,  but  he  was  so  vague  as  to  the  nature 
of  the  accident,  and  the  amount  of  the  injuries,  that  Desire 
easily  managed  to  allay  the  old  lady's  momentary  uneasiness, 
and  at  the  same  time  herself  perceived  that  the  true  facts 
were  being  concealed,  probably  from  Mrs.  Alexander  as 
well  as  every  one  else. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  never  heard  the  truth  ;  she  accepted 
Desire's  reassurances  on  Sunday  as  she  had  accepted  the 
explanation  she  gave  earlier.  Indeed,  the  old  lady  was 
curiously  content  to  accept  without  question,  she  seemed 
as  if  she  were  too  tired  to  do  anything  else.  Desire  was 
impressed  with  it,  and  at  the  same  time  suddenly  perceived 
that  Mrs.  Grimstone  was  very  tired  ;  more,  that  she  was 
failing. 

With  a  startled  feeling  that  was  almost  a  pang  Desire 
perceived  it,  and  in  the  new  light  began  to  understand  small 
signs  she  had  hardly  seen  before.  It  was  the  not  unfamiliar 
sight  of  the  invalid  life  lingering  on,  and  the  unwatched  life 

288 


DESIRE 

of  the  watcher  burning  quietly  away.  There  had  been 
a  difference  in  Mrs.  Grimstone  ever  since  she  had  seen  her 
hungered-for  grandchild.  She  seldom  or  never  spoke  of  the 
child  or  of  the  mother  ;  she  never  gave  any  indication  of 
wishing  to  see  them  again,  but  since  their  first  visit  a  little 
quiet  sadness  had  settled  on  her ;  not  diminishing  her 
patient  cheerfulness  exactly,  or  coming  between  her  and 
her  many  services,  but  making  her  silent  and  filling  her  eyes 
with  the  wistful  resignation  of  a  woman  who  has  lost  a 
young  baby.  It  was  as  if  she  had  transferred  to  the  dead 
child  the  love  which  she  had  had  for  both,  and  which  the 
living  one  wanted  so  little,  as  if  she  felt  that  the  hungered- 
for  child  was  dead.  It  was  not  this  exactly  which  had  aged 
her,  but  it  had  taken  away  one  of  the  hopes  and  longings  of 
her  life,  and  when  one  is  on  in  years  one  cannot  well  afford 
to  lose  them.  Desire  saw  it,  and  it  seemed  to  her  pitiful, 
and  she  longed  to  supply  the  loss  from  her  own  super- 
abundant zest  for  life.  But  it  could  not  be  done,  any  more 
than  a  transfer  of  her  vitality  could.  She  realized  it,  and 
began  to  realize,  also,  other  things  about  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
small  signs  but  not  without  meaning.  Things  were  an 
effort  now  which  had  been  no  effort  before,  bravely  borne 
and  cheerfully  made,  but  effort  still.  There  was  a  tendency 
to  doze  over  work,  a  dropping  into  cat-sleeps  whenever  the 
stimulus  of  necessity  was  removed,  as  if  nature  were  worn. 
There  were  other  small  wearinesses  and  feeblenesses,  indica- 
tions all  that  Mrs.  Grimstone  had,  unnoticed  by  them,  been 
gradually  getting  very  frail. 

On  the  day  when  Desire  and  Peter  agreed  about  Miss 
Quebell's  offer,  there  was  an  example  of  Mrs.  Grimstone's 
increasing  feebleness  and  an  indication  that  she  herself  was 
not  unaware  of  it.  At  dinner-time  Desire  informed  her  that 
Peter  was  trying  to  get  rid  of  her. 
19  289 


DESIRE 

"  He  hasn't  given  me  notice  exactly,"  she  said,  "  but  he 
has  indicated  that  the  sooner  I  go  the  better." 

"  Go  !  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  exclaimed  in  such  dismay  that 
they  both  looked  at  her.  "  Oh,  my  dear,  don't  do  it  !  I 
can't — I  mean,  I  don't  think  I  can  spare  you  !  Peter, 
must  she  go  ?  Surely  there  is  no  reason  why  she  should 
go?" 

The  last  was  a  plea.  True  to  her  lifelong  custom  Mrs. 
Grimstone  would,  after  the  first  shock,  bow  to  the  dictates 
of  the  men  of  her  house,  no  matter  how  they  might  press  on 
her.  <c  Oh,  Peter,  must  she  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Of  course  not,"  Desire  said.  And  they  both  hastened 
to  reassure  her,  explaining  that  it  was  only  a  proposal  from 
some  relative  who  wanted  Desire  to  live  with  her. 

"  But  I'm  not  going,"  Desire  said  decidedly.  "  You're 
not  going  to  get  rid  of  me  that  way." 

"  I  am  glad,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  said  ;  "  I  am  glad  !  "  again 
and  again. 

"  Of  course,  if  you  ought  to  go,"  she  said  tentatively 
after  a  little,  "I  mean,  if  it  is  better  for  you,  more 

suitable " 

"  It  isn't,"  Desire  assured  her. 
"  Is  it,  Peter  ?  "  Mrs.  Grimstone  asked. 
"  She  says  it   isn't,"  Peter  answered  j  "  and  anyhow  she 
has  made  up  her  mind  not  to  go,  and  you  know  what  that 
means." 

Mrs.  Grimstone  looked  wistfully  at  Desire.  "  Perhaps, 
later  on,"  she  said,  "  after  the  winter — I've  got  so  to  depend 

on  you  now-a-days " 

Desire  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "  Flatterer  ! "  she 
said.  "  Nobody  ever  depended  on  me  before — they  all  knew 
better." 

Afterwards,  when  she  and    Peter  were  alone,  she  said, 

290 


DESIRE 

"  Do  you  know,  your  mother's  just  been  wearing  out  under 
our  eyes  and  we  never  knew  it." 

Peter  nodded,  and  stood  silent. 

Desire  smoked  hard  ;  she  wanted  to  do  something,  she 
did  not  know  what,  but  she  wanted  to  do  it  at  once  for 
the  woman  who  had  become  very  dear  to  her. 

"  She  isn't  ill,"  Peter  said  slowly,  as  if  he  were  reviewing 
things,  "  she  is  just  tired.  I  think  so  tired  that  soon  she 
will  find  it  an  effort  to  live." 

"  A  very  little  thing,  a  cough  or  a  cold  even,  would  make 
it  too  much  effort,"  Desire  said  shortly. 

Again  Peter  nodded.  "  And  I  never  knew,"  he  said. 
"  I  never  knew.  I  took  it  as  a  matter  of  course  that  she 
should  do  things." 

There  was  remorse  in  his  tone,  Desire  felt  a  share  in  it, 
but  after  a  little  she  said,  "  Do  you  know,  I  really  think  it 
was  a  matter  of  course.  I  believe  if  she  could  not  serve  she 
would  not  want  to  live.  It's  wonderful,  isn't  it  ?  I  never 
knew  before,  but  there  are  people  like  that.  It — it  makes 
me  ashamed."  She  wiped  her  eyes  openly. 

"  What  can  we  do  ?  "  Peter  asked. 

"  Nothing,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  believe  just  nothing.  Save 
her  when  we  can,  and  take  care  of  her  without  letting  her 
see — but  really  nothing." 

And  she  was  right.  There  was  very  little  more  they 
could  do  ;  for,  as  she  had  perceived,  Mrs.  Grimstone  was 
of  that  kind  who  would  rather  be  doing  and  serving ;  who 
so  long  had  never  considered  herself  that  she  had  little  self 
left,  and  when  the  consideration  for  others  was  taken  from 
her  had  small  wish  to  live.  So,  in  spite  of  what  they  saw, 
they  largely  had  to  let  her  follow  her  usual  course  and  lead 
her  usual  life.  They  saved  her  where  they  could,  un- 
ostentatiously, and  without  letting  it  appear ;  they  gave 

291 


DESIRE 

her  much  thought  and  gentleness,  and  between  them  made 
the  short  winter  days  very  happy  for  her.  The  last  part  of 
Mrs.  Grimstone's  life  was  undoubtedly  the  happiest  in  spite 
of  the  condition  of  her  husband,  and  the  fact  that  she  never 
ceased  to  feel  it  on  his  account.  With  Peter's  home-coming 
the  level  grey  years  had,  as  it  were,  budded  a  little  for  her  ; 
little  tentative  shoots  of  pleasure  had  come,  touches  of  con- 
sideration, unspoken  sympathy,  like  gleams  of  sunshine. 
And  in  spite  of  the  trouble  which,  within  the  first  year,  had 
fallen  upon  the  household,  the  gleams  grew  and  broadened. 
Ezra's  disablement  was  the  shaking  of  the  pivot  of  Mrs. 
Grimstone's  existence,  none  the  less,  it  gave  her  liberty  and 
the  opportunity  to  serve  ;  and  in  Peter's  company  the  shoots 
of  happiness  still  budded.  This  until  Desire  came,  when 
somehow  it  seemed  they  came  to  blossom.  Gaiety  and 
laughter  and  small  joys  sprang  up  like  flowers  in  the  genial 
warmth  of  Desire's  large  vitality.  She  was  glad,  and  this 
grey  world  seemed  glad  because  of  her  ;  she  was  strong,  and 
burdens  seemed  small  beside  her  ;  life  had  given  to  her 
abundantly,  and  she  gave  again,  herself,  her  goods,  her 
emotions,  spending  with  both  hands.  She  had  brought  the 
sunshine  to  the  last  year  of  Mrs.  Grimstone's  life,  though 
she  had  not  the  least  idea  of  it  until  the  end,  when  the  old 
lady  told  her — told  her  with  the  simplicity  which  was  part  of 
her  nature,  and  which  gave  a  curious  value  to  what  she  said. 
"Ah,  my  dear,"  she  said,  when  Desire  sat  silent  under  her 
words,  a  choke  in  her  throat  at  the  sudden  vision  she  had  of 
the  bareness  of  a  life  that  could  be  thus  brightened.  "  It  is 
a  great  gift  you  have,  to  make  the  world  a  brighter  place  by 
just  being.  It  was  like  the  sun  coming  into  our  house  when 
you  came — we  don't  have  such  a  great  deal  of  sun  here, 
you  know,  the  hills  bring  clouds,  I  think.  You  are  very 
radiant." 

292 


DESIRE 

"  I  ?  "  Desire  said.     «  No,  oh  no  !  " 

"  Yes,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  persisted,  "  when  you  wish  you 
are  ;  you  always  wished  to  shine  here,  I  think  you  knew  we 
had  not  had  much  sunshine.  You  never  thought  of  yourself 
and  your  troubles,  only  of  us.  You  could  shine  in  other 
grey  places,  too,  if  you  liked.  It  is  a  great  gift,  my  dear ; 
many  people  try  to  make  the  world  better,  some  do  it,  but 
not  many  can  make  it  brighter  by  just  being,  by  their  smiles, 
by  their  voice,  by  little  words  and  little  deeds,  by  just  living. 
Oh,  my  dear,  take  care  of  it,  don't  let  the  gift  get  dim  ! " 

Desire  could  not  answer,  she  was  crying  quietly  but 
unreservedly. 

Mrs.  Grimstone  herself  seemed  to  feel  little  regret  at  the 
approaching  end,  which  she  knew  to  be  near  ;  when  once 
she  was  sure  her  place  would  be  filled,  she  seemed  quite 
content  to  go. 

"  I  never  thought  to  go  before  Ezra,"  she  said  once,  "  it's 
sad  to  leave  him  ;  but  it  would  have  been  sadder  to  stay,  and 
not  to  be  able  to  do  all  he  wants.  Mary  will  take  my  place, 
she  is  a  good  woman,  a  good  true  woman,  she  never  fails. 
Why,  in  the  few  days  I  have  been  lying  here  she  has  learnt 
to  do  for  him  better  than  I  have  of  late  !  Think  of  that  ! 
It  took  me  quite  a  long  time  to  learn,  but  I  never  was 
clever." 

For  the  rest  she  seemed  to  have  little  regret.  She  was 
unfeignedly  glad  that  her  illness  was  short,  that  she  would 
not  be  a  trouble  to  any  one.  It  was  vain  that  Desire  told 
her  it  was  no  trouble,  vain  that  her  looks  and  words  showed 
hers  was  a  more  than  willing  service.  Mrs.  Grimstone  had 
so  long  been  the  server  she  could  not  take  to  being  served  ; 
she  had  so  long  spent  all  her  energy  doing  for  others,  it 
made  her  uneasy  to  have  another  do  for  her,  even  though 
that  other  was  Desire. 

293 


DESIRE 

In  these  last  days  the  office  saw  little  of  Desire.  James 
did  her  work,  and  she  became  nurse,  the  woman  in  her 
suddenly  come  to  the  surface.  The  nurse  and  mother, 
which  seems  to  lie  dormant  in  most  women,  waked  to  life, 
and  making  her — herself  still — but  another,  a  gentler,  a  more 
tender,  perhaps  a  truer  woman  too. 

"  My  dear,"  Mrs.  Grimstone  whispered  on  the  last  day  of 
all,  "  you  have  been  very  good  to  me — not  now  only,  but 

ever  since  you  came.  You  a^nd  Peter "  she  looked 

across  at  Peter,  who  was  the  other  side  of  the  bed. 

"I  have  sometimes  thought,"  she  said  to  him,  "since  I 
have  been  lying  here  thinking  of  things,  and  of  all  Desire 
told  me  of  London  and  your  life.  Sometimes  I  wondered  if 
you  did  want  to  come  home — if  it  was  the  best " 

"  Yes,"  Peter  said,  "  it  was  the  best,  I  think  the  best  work 
in  my  life,  I  know  the  best  time." 

His  voice  had  a  curious  depth  as  he  spoke,  and  Desire 
knew  he  was  speaking  the  truth,  though  to  her  there  was 
something  almost  tragic  in  it ;  for  the  goodness  he  had  found 
was  the  goodness  of  renunciation,  and  the  hard-learnt  lesson 
that  work  well  done  is  better  than  work  self-chosen,  better 
than  the  success  which  may  or  may  not  crown  it. 

But  Mrs.  Grimstone  did  not  understand,  and  she  was 
reassured  and  content.  Her  hand  fluttered  feebly,  and 
Peter,  divining  what  was  in  her  mind,  took  it  in  his  ;  in 
these  late  rare  moments  this  expression  of  emotion  was 
possible,  though  it  never  had  been  before  in  all  their  reserved 
lives.  With  Desire  it  was  always  possible,  Mrs.  Grimstone's 
left  hand  had  long  lain  in  hers  ;  now  with  her  right  she  held 
Peter,  and,  so  holding,  happy  in  the  presence  of  the  two  she 
loved,  she  fell  into  fitful  sleep.  So  they  sat  there  very  quiet 
in  the  quiet  room,  a  pause  of  peace  to  gather  the  thought 
harvest.  So  till  the  twilight  fell,  and  the  feeble  fingers  grew 

294 


DESIRE 

more  feeble  and  relaxed,  and  gradually,  in  spite  of  the  strong 
grasp  of  the  younger  hands,  grew  cold.  The  faint  breath 
grew  fainter,  fluttered,  and  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Grimstone, 
tired  with  a  long  day's  work,  slipped  from  sleep  to  the  longer 
rest. 


295 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  funeral  was  over,  the  few  crape-bound  cousins  who 
had  attended  took  their  leave.  Having  parted  with  one 
who  had  to  wait  for  a  down  train,  the  rest  got  into  an  up 
and  settled  themselves,  the  men  taking  off  their  black  gloves, 
the  women  throwing  back  their  veils  and  criticizing  the 
funeral  arrangements. 

"  I  don't  approve  of  innovations,"  said  the  lady  with  the 
black  currants  in  her  bonnet — she  was  one  who  made  it  a 
point  of  duty  to  attend  all  the  funerals  she  could — "  I  don't 
like  the  way  things  were  done." 

A  younger  woman,  by  name  Clara,  did  not  like  them 
either,  and  she  said  so,  adding  further,  "  And  whatever  was 
right  was  no  thanks  to  Peter  Grimstone,  I'm  sure.  I've 
not  seen  him  since  he  was  a  little  boy  in  knickerbockers 
until  to-day,  but  he's  not  improved,  any  one  can  see 
what  he  is." 

She  sniffed  just  a  little  as  she  spoke,  so  it  is  plain  whatever 
she  saw  Peter  to  be  she  did  not  admire  it.  She  turned  for 
corroboration  to  the  head  man  of  the  party,  an  elderly 
gentleman,  who  last  year  had  buried  his  wife  with  a  funeral 
which  had  given  complete  satisfaction  to  every  one,  including 
the  undertakers.  He  had  disapproved  of  several  things 
to-day,  though  principally  Peter.  "Peter  Grimstone,"  he 
said  in  a  beard-muffled  voice,  "  a  fool,  a  dreamer,  wrote  a 
book  or  something.  Stand-offish  ways  too — doesn't  know 
time  and  place — his  mother's  funeral  not  the  time  for  that 
sort  of  thing." 

296 


DESIRE 

"  What's-his-name — Alexander,  was  not  there." 

A  little  man  with  a  cheerful  face,  and  gloves  which  had 
been  inked  at  the  tips,  said  this.  He  was  somebody's 
husband,  a  south-country  man,  without  a  proper  compre- 
hension of  family  feuds.  The  rest  of  the  party  did  compre- 
hend, and  with  one  accord  they  said,  "  Of  course  Alexander 
was  not !  "  One,  it  is  true,  afterwards  added,  and  it  was 
quite  correct,  "  He  had  influenza,  I  am  told,"  but  another 
hastened  to  say,  "  He  wouldn't  have  come  if  he  hadn't 
got  it." 

"  Why  not  ? "  the  little  man  demanded,  though  he  knew 
the  answer.  "  Because  he  happened  to  fall  out  years  ago 
with  a  hard-headed  old  chap  who  is  laid  by  now  ?  Poof ! 
If  you  were  to  ask  me,  I  should  say  his  mother's  funeral 
wasn't  the  time  to  show  off  that  sort  of  thing." 

They  had  not  asked  him,  and  perhaps  it  was  as  well  that 
she  of  the  black  currants  created  a  diversion  by  inquiring,  in 
somewhat  italic  tones,  "  What  I  should  like  to  know  is, 
who  is  the  young  woman  ? " 

Somebody  said,  "  A  companion,"  and  the  irrepressible  little 
man  remarked,  "  Queer  kind  for  that  job — Venus  of  what's- 
his-name,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  don't  you  know.  And 
manners  too.  She's  the  real  thing  !  " 

The  lady  with  the  black  currants  set  her  lips.  "If,"  she 
said  with  seventy,  "she  is  a  companion,  it  would  have  been 
more  becoming  of  her  to  have  left  the  house  by  this  time. 
Seeing  that  there  is  no  one  there  but  servants — old  servants, 
certainly,  but  still  only  servants — and  a  helpless  invalid,  she 
is  virtually  alone  with  a  young  man.  She  should  have  left 
directly  after  poor  dear  Susan's  death  ;  if  she  had  had  nice 
feelings  she  would  have  done  so." 

She  called  Clara  sniffed  here,  she  did  not  expect  the  "nice 
feelings,"  evidently.  "It's  an  extraordinary  thing,"  she 

297 


DESIRE 

said,  "that  poor  Susan  should  have  left  her  china,  even 
grandmother's  tea-set,  to  her ;  such  things  ought  to  go  to 
relatives." 

They  were  agreed  on  this  point,  as  they  had  been  on 
Peter's  behaviour,  and  the  two  subjects,  diluted  by  references 
to  recent  funerals  attended  by  the  older  woman,  served  them 
till  they  had  to  part  company. 

That  Peter's  behaviour  fell  short  of  what  it  should  have 
been  according  to  custom,  was  not  very  surprising,  for  he 
had  no  idea  what  was  expected  of  him,  or  indeed,  that  any- 
thing particular  was.  And  Desire,  totally  unacquainted 
with  the  rigid  forms  regarded  here,  was  no  help  to  him. 
Robert  no  doubt  could  have  told  him  ;  but  Peter's  ignorance 
on  the  subject  extended  to  not  knowing  there  were  things 
he  ought  to  know,  so  he  did  not  ask,  and  Robert  did  not 
volunteer.  The  old  man,  as  the  cousins  guessed,  had  to  a 
certain  extent  arranged  things,  at  all  events  the  things  which 
pleased  them.  It  was  to  him  they  practically  owed  their 
presence.  Peter,  left  to  himself,  would  certainly  not  have 
remembered  them,  and  Desire  would  not  have  thought  to 
ask  if  Mrs.  Grimstone  had  any  relatives  near  or  far  off. 
Indeed,  she  rather  objected  to  their  presence  ;  it  seemed  to 
her  ridiculous,  almost  impertinent,  that  any  one  besides  her 
and  Peter  should  be  there.  They  two  alone  had  known 
and  loved  Mrs.  Grimstone  ;  it  was  they  she  had  loved,  and 
they,  with  the  helpless  body  which  had  so  strangely  survived 
her,  formed  her  life  and  the  centre  of  her  existence.  It  was 
they  surely  who  should  alone  follow  her  to  the  grave.  The 
rest  was  mere  convention,  and  Desire  had  small  patience 
with  convention  when  it  interfered  with  or  intruded  upon 
her. 

Peter,  on  the  other  hand,  was  indifferent  to  it ;  she  felt 
that,  and  in  the  light  of  the  feeling  became  more  reconciled 

298 


DESIRE 

herself.  It  did  not  intrude  with  him,  he  was  hardly  aware 
of  its  existence.  The  cousins  were  there,  of  course,  Robert 
had  thought  they  should  be,  and  James  at  his  direction  had 
bidden  them,  but  they  were  nothing.  Since  they  were 
there  Peter  was  patiently  polite  to  them,  as  he  would  have 
been  to  any  one  he  found  in  the  house  or  met  on  the  road, 
but  they  did  not  count  for  anything,  their  presence  was 
little  more  than  the  presence  of  flies  on  the  window  pane — 
they  came,  they  buzzed,  they  went.  He  and  Desire  were 
alone  in  this,  as  formerly  he  had  been  alone  in  all  things  that 
mattered,  and  as  they  of  late  had  been  alone  together.  They 
had  grown  to  be  more  and  more  alone  together ;  he  had 
not  realized  how  much  they  were,  nor  how  the  original 
single  solitude  of  his  life  had  come  to  be  shared,  until  the 
day  his  mother  died.  Then,  when  they  sat  in  wordless 
sympathy  and  knew  each  the  other's  feeling  without  ex- 
pression, he  realized  it ;  he  knew  then  that,  however  material 
circumstances  altered  or  what  corporeal  facts  afterwards 
befell,  they  two  would  always  have  this  time  of  oneness  to 
look  back  upon.  They  had  gradually  come  so  close  together 
in  the  past  months  of  work  and  struggle,  this  sitting  together 
in  the  death  chamber,  held  by  the  feeble  hands  of  the  simple 
woman  who  had  loved  them,  was  as  it  were  the  consumma- 
tion. What  came  after  could  not  alter  and  could  not  take 
it.  And  certainly  the  trivial  present,  the  mere  presence  or 
absence  of  women  with  crape  veils  and  men  with  huskily 
subdued  voices,  was  of  no  importance  at  all.  It  matters  very 
little  who  comes  for  a  while  into  one's  house,  seeing  how 
perfectly  impossible  it  is  for  any  one,  blood-relation  or  bed- 
fellow, to  come  unbidden  into  one's  life,  to  understand  and 
share  the  things  that  really  count. 

So  the  cousins  came  and  went  away,  and  their  coming 
and  their  going  was  equally  nothing  to  Peter  ;  and,  through 

299 


DESIRE 

him,  not  much  more  to  Desire  after  the  first.  Though, 
after  they  had  gone,  she  threw  up  the  long  windows  to  let 
out  the  smell  of  their  crape  and  boots.  Having  done  this 
she  went  to  change  her  funeral  dress,  and  Peter  went  up  to 
his  father's  room,  to  tell  the  events  of  the  day  to  the  inani- 
mate figure  which  he  still  believed  might  some  time  hear  and 
understand. 

Desire,  when  she  had  changed  her  dress,  went  to  the 
office  ;  there  were  several  letters  she  rather  wanted  to  get 
off;  moreover,  she  felt  a  restless  need  of  doing  something — 
something  which  which  would  occupy  her  mind.  She 
typed  the  letters,  took  copies,  filed  papers,  gave  all  her 
attention  to  the  business  in  hand.  Yet  between  whiles, 
when  she  stopped  for  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper,  when  she  folded 
a  letter  or  fastened  an  envelope,  other  thoughts  would 
intrude — one  other  thought — The  end.  It  had  come.  The 
thing  was  ended,  the  thing  as  it  had  been,  as  it  was,  had 
come  to  an  end,  and  she  knew  it.  She  had  not  heard  the 
strictures  of  the  lady  with  the  black  currants,  and  she  would 
not  have  cared  a  snap  of  the  fingers  if  she  had.  She  would 
not  have  cared  for  better  founded  strictures  passed  by  people 
of  more  importance,  better  able  to  form  an  opinion.  She 
would  not  have  had  the  slightest  compunction  about  living 
on  here  on  the  present  terms — but  Peter,  she  knew,  would 
not  ask  her  to  do  it.  More — for  in  her  regal  disregard  of 
obstacles  she  might  have  got  over  that  difficulty — he  would 
not  let  her  do  it.  The  compromise  of  more  or  less  continu- 
ing the  present  work  and  living  somewhere  in  the  town,  she 
did  not  for  one  moment  contemplate  ;  it  would  have  been 
a  mere  ridiculous  evasion  to  both  her  and  Peter.  Conven- 
tions might  have  been  satisfied  by  such  a  thing,  but  then 
neither  of  them  thought  of  that,  it  was  not  a  convention 
which  dictated  the  end  which  was  coming.  She  did  not 

300 


DESIRE 

know  how  it  would  come,  whether  he  would  ask  her  to 
marry  him.  A  shaking  took  possession  of  her  at  the  thought, 
as  if  she  had  been  the  youngest  girl;  and  as  if  she  had  been 
such  a  one  she  never  pictured  a  point  further  than  the 
question,  which  she  somehow  did  not  feel  was  likely  to  be 
asked.  Or  whether  he  would  tell  her  that  for  some  reason 
he  could  not  marry  her.  It  did  not  matter  why,  she  had  a 
large,  tolerant  incuriousness  of  such  things,  and  the  result, 
whatever  the  reason,  would  be  the  same.  Or  whether  he 
would  tell  her  she  must  go.  This  was  the  last  thought,  the 
ever-recurring  one.  This  had  no  reason  either  and  would 
ask  none  ;  she  would,  if  this  came,  simply  accept  it  and  go. 
She  had  always  kicked  over  barriers  and  stepped  over 
obstacles,  often  without  even  recognizing  them ;  she  had  not 
the  slightest  regard  for  any  conventions  which  were  hamper- 
ing to  her,  but  this  time  she  would  accept  another's  dictate, 
whatever  it  was. 

But  when,  when  would  it  be  ?  Not  that  evening,  it 
seemed,  though  they  spent  it  together.  They  sat  together 
after  supper,  they  two  alone  ;  she  noticed  absurd  little  details 
that  night,  things  which  had  occurred  before  but  which  in 
their  intimacy  struck  her  afresh.  He  carved,  he  knew  pre- 
cisely what  she  liked,  he  did  not  ask  her,  as  if  they  had 
always  lived  together.  She  helped  the  sweets,  Mary,  who 
brought  the  plates,  asked  her  some  question,  would  she  have 
this  or  that  dish  ?  as  if  she  were  the  mistress  of  the  house  and 
had  forgotten  to  give  the  order. 

After  supper  he  read  prayers.  When  she  first  came  she 
had  found  him  carrying  on  this  custom  of  the  house,  and 
somehow,  though  she  could  not  tell  why,  she  had  been  glad 
of  it.  She  had  known  little  of  the  Bible  before,  its  splendid 
prose  and  vivid,  many-sided  humanity  appealed  strongly  to 
her,  and  yet  in  some  way  seemed  to  fit  with  the  life  here. 

301 


DESIRE 

She  was  glad  that  Peter  read  every  night,  as  his  father  and 
grandfather  and  great-grandfather  had  before  him,  even 
though  he,  and  probably  they  too,  doubtless  had  a  private 
interpretation  of  what  was  read.  That  night  he  read  prayers, 
Robert  and  Mary  at  one  end  of  the  room,  she  and  he  at  the 
other  ;  the  old  Puritan  custom  of  family  worship,  as  if  they 
two  were  the  heads  of  the  family. 

After  prayers  they  sat  together  by  the  fire.  The  earlier 
part  of  the  evening  Peter  had  felt  compelled  to  spend  in  his 
father's  room,  and  Desire  had  been  alone.  Now  Mary  was 
up-stairs  settling  the  invalid  for  the  night,  and  they  two  were 
alone.  They  sat  one  on  either  side  of  the  fire,  the  dog 
curled  up  beteen  them.  Desire  was  darning,  she  had  learnt 
at  last  under  Mrs.  Grimstone's  tuition  j  it  was  one  of  the 
fine  old  pillow-cases  she  was  at  work  upon.  She  felt  Peter's 
eyes  upon  it  and  realized  that  here  again  was  the  same 
intimacy.  In  her  previous  life  in  her  father's  house  such 
things  had  been  impossible  ;  any  two  persons  might  be  there 
under  any  conditions,  and  even  though  they  could  outrage 
all  the  proprieties  they  could  not  come  into  this  simple 
hearth-sharing  relationship.  In  that  hotel-like  life  it  was  the 
butler  who  knew  one's  tastes,  the  housekeeper  who  ordered 
the  household,  the  sewing-maid  who  did  the  mending.  The 
members  of  the  family  knew  nothing  of  each  other's  wants, 
little  of  each  other's  sorrows,  and  not  much  of  each  other's 
joys  ;  in  that  life  it  would  have  been  possible  to  marry  a  man 
and,  in  most  particulars,  never  really  live  with  or  know  him 
properly.  Here  it  was  utterly  and  entirely  different ;  here 
and  now  she  and  Peter  were  as  she  had  never  been  with 
another  man,  never  could  be. 

Suddenly  she  began  to  talk,  about  anything,  the  first  thing 
that  came  to  her  tongue.  Of  course  it  was  personal,  in  a 
very  short  time  it  was  bound  to  be ;  when  you  share  work, 

302 


DESIRE 

and  interest,  and  almost  thoughts  with  one  person  every 
topic  must  be  soon,  but  it  is  sometimes  better  to  talk  even 
thus  than  to  be  silent.  So  the  evening  passed,  too  fast,  and 
yet  not  so  fast  but  that  she  noted  and  remembered  every- 
thing. At  last  it  was  bedtime,  and  she  rose,  folding  her 
work  neatly  as  Mrs.  Grimstone  used  to  do. 

Robert  and  Mary  had  already  gone  up  when  they  came 
out  into  the  hall,  so  Peter  barred  the  front  door. 

"I  believe  we  ought  to  get  a  new  mat,"  he  said,  as  he 
caught  his  foot  in  a  hanging  thread.  "  Do  you  know  where 
they  get  them  ? " 

"  No,"  Desire  said  almost  sharply.  "  Shall  I  put  out  the 
light  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Don't  bother,"  Peter  answered.     "  I'll  do  it." 

He  came,  but  she  had  put  it  out  before  he  got  there,  and 
holding  her  candle  low,  went  down  the  hall.  They  went 
up-stairs  together  and  parted  on  the  landing,  after  stopping  to 
see  if  the  staircase  window  was  fastened.  Peter  examined  the 
window,  she  held  the  light.  Then  they  said  "  good-night," 
and  went  each  to  their  room.  And  then  suddenly,  as  Desire 
shut  the  door,  restraint  dropped  from  her,  the  self-possession 
which  in  all  her  life,  through  all  its  happenings,  in  company 
and  solitude,  had  always  decently  dropped  her  emotions,  fell 
off,  and  the  crude  woman  flashed  out  for  a  moment. 

"  I  can't  stand  it  !  God  in  Heaven  !  I  can't  do  it !  "  she 
said  almost  aloud.  "  I  can't  sit  at  table  with  him,  share  the 
house  with  him,  bar  the  door  with  him,  play  at  wife  with 
him,  and  no  more  ! " 

She  turned  with  almost  a  fury  of  movement,  like  a  wild 
animal,  and  like  an  animal  flung  herself  across  the  room, 
hands  clenched,  eyes  blazing,  scarlet  lips  protesting  in  half 
audible  outcry — "  I  can't,  I  can't  1 " 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room  there  was  a  mirror,  in  the 

3°3 


DESIRE 

half  dark  a  face  looked  out  of  it,  a  face  unveiled  and  somehow 
terrible  in  its  hunger  and  its  passion  and  primitive  unabashed 
emotion.  Desire,  seeing  it,  recoiled,  then  stood  still.  For 
a  long  minute  she  stood  with  averted  eyes,  and  the  dim  face 
changed.  The  eyes  grew  tragic,  almost  fearing,  and  the 
mouth — it  was  hid  in  shadows — one  only  knew  it  twitched 
and  worked.  Her  breath  came  heavily,  as  one  who  has 
struggled  in  deep  waters.  Then  she  threw  up  her  head  and, 
though  the  mirrored  face  showed  white,  almost  as  if  fingers 
had  hardly  pressed  it,  a  trace  of  the  old  smile  curved  the 
wrung  lips. 

"  Clearly,"  she  said  to  it,  "  it  is  time  I  went." 
She  put  out  the  light  and  undressed  in  the  dark.     Her 
breath  was  coming  evenly  now,  her  pulse  beating  slow  and 
regular ;    but   she    did  not   want  to  see  herself  again  just 
yet. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  in  the  afternoon  she  and 
Peter  went  up  the  hill  together.  It  was  a  quiet,  grey  after- 
noon in  early  February,  everything  still,  no  sign  of  life,  no 
promise  even  of  the  spring  in  this  cold  country.  There  was 
a  sense  of  pause  in  the  air,  of  waiting  for  something ;  it 
might  be  for  storms  and  sleet,  or  it  might  be  gentle  rain  and 
gleams  of  sunshine  ;  there  was  nothing  to  tell ;  only  the 
earth  slept,  brown  beneath  the  grey  sky,  very  silent.  They 
went  by  the  familiar  way,  by  the  path  and  past  the  land- 
marks now  as  well  known  to  Desire  as  to  Peter.  She 
observed  them  particularly  that  day,  each  one  as  they  came 
to  it.  When  the  top  was  reached  she  sat  down  on  the  dead 
heather  ;  there  had  been  no  rain  for  some  time,  and  the 
ground  was  moderately  dry  ;  dry  enough,  at  all  events,  to 
satisfy  her ;  and  she  drew  herself  out  full  length  in  the  way 
she  liked.  Peter  sat  on  a  boulder  near,  his  eyes  on  the 
spread  landscape,  and  for  a  time  there  was  complete  silence. 

3°4 


DESIRE 

At  last  Peter  spoke.  "When  you  wrote  to  Miss  Quebel!, 
what  did  you  say  ?  Do  you  mind  telling  me  ? " 

"  I  said  that  I  was  much  obliged  for  her  proposal ;  very 
grateful  for  it  ;  thought  it  no  end  sporting,  and  all  the  rest ; 
but  I  didn't  see  my  way  to  accepting  it — or  words  to  that 
effect." 

Desire  spoke  carelessly,  but  she  rolled  over  as  she  spoke, 
and,  elbows  on  the  ground,  chin  propped  on  hands,  watched 
Peter  under  her  hat-brim. 

"  When  she  acknowledged  your  letter,  was  she  angry  ? " 
he  asked. 

"  Very,"  Desire  answered.  "  The  offer,  apparently,  was 
not  pure  philanthropy  ;  there  would  seem  to  have  been  a 
teeny  wee  bit  of  an  idea  of  scoring  off  Lady  Quebell  in  it — 
or,  at  all  events,  of  demonstrating  a  superior  sense  of  duty 
and  justice,  and  so  on.  Yes,  she  was  annoyed,  and  she  said 
so.  There  was,  however,  a  postscript  indicating  that,  owing 
to  these  or  other  reasons,  the  offer  might  still  be  open  if  I 
came  to  my  senses — or,  rather,  her  senses — at  a  future  date." 

"  I  see,"  Peter  said,  and  there  was  another  pause.  Then 
he  asked,  "  Don't  you  think  it  would  be  wiser  if  you  did 
go  to  her  ?  It  would  be  better,  don't  you  think,  than  any- 
thing else  ? " 

He  turned  to  her  as  he  spoke,  and  she  raised  her  head 
to  meet  his  eyes. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  go  ?  "  she  asked. 

«  Yes." 

He  did  not  explain,  or  apologize,  or  palliate  it  ;  he  did 
not  thank  her  for  what  she  had  done,  or  dwell  on  her  gain 
in  going,  or  his  loss.  He  only  answered  the  one  word,  and 
looked  in  her  eyes  as  he  spoke  it.  And  Desire  asked  no 
more  ;  it  was  enough  j  all  else  would  have  been  superfluous, 
mere  words.  This  was  her  order  to  go  ;  and,  for  all  her 

20  305 


DESIRE 

strength  and  persistence,  for  all  her  habit  of  overriding 
obstacles  and  gaily  carrying  her  point,  she  accepted  it.  She 
was  a  woman  to  the  core,  and  such,  the  most  wayward  as 
well  as  the  most  docile,  the  strongest  sooner,  perhaps,  than 
the  weakest,  will  take  orders  from  the  one  man  who  can 
give  them.  So  Desire  took  this  order,  and  so  the  end  came. 
She  took  it  in  silence  ;  for  one  moment  the  immovable  face 
and  grey  eyes  which  looked  into  hers  held  her  silent,  held 
her  soul  prisoned,  as  it  were. 

But  she  had  learnt  self-mastery  in  a  good  school,  and 
practised  it  in  private  and  in  public — with  one  brief 
exception — most  of  her  life,  and  it  stood  her  in  good  stead 
now. 

"  All  right,"  she  said  ;  "  I'll  write  to-night." 

Then  she  looked  away.  She  knew  that,  whatever  his 
motive  for  sending  her,  it  was  not  easy  to  him,  and  she  was 
suddenly  afraid  of  seeing  it  in  his  face.  She  tore  up  some 
heather  roots  and  examined  them  carefully,  entirely  without 
seeing.  A  curlew  cried  once  overhead  ;  nothing  else  stirred 
in  the  great  silence.  Peter  looked  straight  before  him  ;  his 
face  had  grown  grim  and  old  ;  he  had  no  word  whatever  to 
say,  and  she  was  glad  of  it.  A  word  of  any  sort  would  have 
been  so  utterly  inadequate,  so  false.  She  was  glad,  savagely 
glad,  that  his  face  was  grim  and  old  ;  and  next  moment 
she  was  ashamed,  ashamed  even  of  having  seen  what  he 
wished  hid.  She  sat  up  and  felt  for  her  cigarette  case. 

"  Can  you  give  me  a  light  ?  "  she  said. 

He  gave  her  one,  and  then  rose,  as  if  he  thought  it  time 
they  went. 

They  went  home  by  the  long  way  that  day  and  they 
talked  very  little,  talk  seemed  somewhat  impossible.  The 
path  was  a  long  and  winding  one,  taking  them  some  way 
among  the  hills  before  bringing  them  to  the  level  of  the  road. 

306 


DESIRE 

At  one  point  it  passed  a  deserted  chapel,  a  little  grey  building 
set  on  the  hillside,  built  by  some  small  austere  sect  since 
dead  or  scattered,  deserted  now  except  by  one  solitary 
member.  He,  an  old  bent  man,  a  hill  man  by  birth  and  at 
one  time  possibly  a  leading  light  among  the  lost  community, 
still  came.  Regularly,  in  rain  or  sunshine  or  howling  wind, 
he  came ;  each  Sunday  afternoon  he  took  the  path,  so  little 
used  now  as  to  be  rough  and  overgrown,  and  came  to  the 
chapel  and  alone  he  held  a  service  there  according  to  his 
lights.  Desire  and  Peter  had  seen  him  sometimes  when  they 
passed  that  way  ;  to-day  when  they  neared  the  chapel  they 
saw  that  the  door  stood  wide.  The  light  was  failing  fast 
and  the  old  man,  having  no  candle  or  lamp,  had  left  the 
door  open  so  that  he  might  have  the  last  of  the  daylight. 
The  bare  interior  was  all  revealed,  the  walls  stained  with 
damp  and  disuse,  the  shadows  in  the  corner,  the  kneeling 
figure.  An  old  illiterate  man,  a  bare  place,  deserted  and 
forgotten  in  the  lonely  hills,  and  yet  a  temple  sanctified  by 
worship. 

By  common  impulse  Desire  and  Peter  paused  ;  then  with- 
out speaking  went  quietly  in  and  knelt  down  side  by  side 
among  the  shadows. 

The  old  man  prayed  and  preached.  He  preached  aloud 
though  for  years  there  had  been  no  congregation  but  the 
birds  that  sometimes,  but  rarely,  looked  in  at  the  windows 
he  had  roughly  mended.  He  prayed  quietly,  sometimes  in 
silence,  sometimes  in  a  muttering  voice  for  no  earthly  hearer. 
He  was  growing  deaf,  he  did  not  hear  the  rare  sounds  with- 
out, would  not  have  heard  if  quiet  steps  entered  or  left  his 
little  sanctuary.  He  was  absorbed  and  did  not  feel  the 
presence  of  human  beings  or  guess  that  human  hearts  beat 
for  a  little  in  the  shadows.  For  long  he  had  been  the  only 
worshipper,  he  looked  for  no  other,  and  that  Sunday,  as  well 

307 


DESIRE 

as  on  all  that  had  gone  before,  it  was  the  same.  There  was 
no  one  in  the  little  building  when  he  felt  his  way  through 
the  dusk  to  the  doorway,  no  one  outside  on  the  fast  darken- 
ing path,  no  sight  or  sound  of  living  soul.  He  turned  to 
secure  the  door  and  on  the  cracked  doorstone  saw  a  tuft  of 
dead  heather  lying.  None  grew  within  a  mile  of  the  place 
but  he  thought  nothing  of  it,  only  picked  it  up  and  threw  it 
away,  and  having  fastened  the  door  took  his  lonely  way  over 
the  hills. 

On  the  Thursday  following  Desire  left  Twycross.  Pre- 
parations with  her  never  took  long  making.  She  wrote  to 
Miss  Quebell,  she  received  an  answer  ;  she  bundled  her 
belongings  into  trunks  and  boxes  and,  having  arranged  her 
papers  and  interviewed  Dodd  and  James,  she  was  practically 
ready  to  start. 

The  affairs  of  the  firm  were,  largely  thanks  to  her,  in 
good  order  now.  Peter,  too,  by  slow  learning  and  painful 
experience  had  at  last  got  the  grip  of  them  ;  James  was  an 
able  and  methodical  assistant  ;  she  knew  that,  however  much 
they  might  miss  her,  they  could  do  without  her  now.  The 
manufacturing  part  was  also  in  excellent  condition — such 
condition  as  it  had  not  been  since  the  early  days  when  small 
concerns  and  working  masters  were  general.  For  this,  too, 
she  was  partly  responsible,  for  without  her  financial  help  the 
machine,  to  which  the  prosperity  was  owing,  could  hardly 
have  been  set  up.  Affairs  were  altogether  in  a  condition  to 
be  left ;  such  a  condition,  indeed,  that  Mr.  Dodd  gave  it  as 
his  opinion  that  it  would  have  been  a  sheer  waste  of  talents 
for  her  to  remain. 

Desire  graciously  accepted  the  somewhat  laboured  com- 
pliment he  paid  her  on  the  subject,  and  thanked  him  for 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  worked  with  her  and  other 
things  in  a  way  which  made  him  happy  if  embarrassed.  At 

308 


DESIRE 

the  same  time  it  emboldened  him  to  ask  if  she  would  allow 
him  to  present  her  with  a  small  souvenir,  some  local  photo- 
graphs a  friend  of  his  had  taken,  he  would  like  to  get  them 
mounted  for  her  if  she  would  permit  it.  Of  course  she  would 
— she  was  delighted  and  touched — it  was  easy  to  touch  Desire 
— her  heart  warmed  towards  Dodd  for  thinking  of  the  photo- 
graphs. But  it  was  not  to  him  she  made  the  one  request  she 
did  make  before  leaving,  but  to  Robert.  She  knew  Robert, 
his  surly  sterling  stuff,  and  his  indissoluble  connection  with 
the  firm  and  the  household. 

"  Robert,"  she  said,  "  I  want  you  to  promise  to  wire  to 
me  if  at  any  time  things  go  wrong,  or  there  is  a  smash  up  of 
any  kind,  or  anything  particular  happens." 

Robert  hesitated  ;  he  was  cautious  in  giving  promises, 
being  one  of  those  who  regard  them  as  more  binding  than 
law  or  common  sense,  and  always  to  be  fulfilled  to  the  letter. 
However,  Desire  had  long  ago  won  an  ascendency  over  him 
and  knew  how  to  use  it ;  before  long  he  had  promised  what 
she  wanted  and  she  knew  he  would  keep  his  word  ;  probably 
without  consulting  Peter,  who  would  naturally  be  allowed 
nothing  to  do  with  what  was  a  matter  of  conscience. 

Desire's  farewells  did  not  take  long  to  make  ;  she  had  no 
acquaintances  in  the  town  to  call  upon  excepting  the 
minister  and  his  wife  ;  on  them  she  paid  a  real  leave-taking 
call  of  great  propriety.  Notwithstanding  it,  however,  Mr. 
Williams  came  to  the  station  to  see  her  off,  and  gave  her  a 
little  book  as  a  farewell  present.  Several  people  gave  her 
farewell  presents,  mostly  of  a  somewhat  unwieldy  order. 
Her  friends  the  quarrymen,  to  whom  she  had  called  good-bye 
from  her  bedroom  window,  left  a  market  bunch  of  wall- 
flowers and  some  fossils,  found  in  their  work,  for  her.  A 
gipsy  crone,  with  whom  she  had  often  smoked  and  chatted, 
gave  her  the  wicker  basket  she  was  making  by  the  roadside, 

309 


DESIRE 

when  she  heard  that  she  was  leaving.  Robert  presented  her 
with  a  remarkable  jug  she  had  often  contemplated  with 
interest ;  the  seven  deadly  sins  were  stencilled  on  it  in  shiny 
black.  Mary  gave  a  bottle  of  embrocation  of  her  own 
compounding,  and  three  mince-pies  to  be  eaten  on  the 
journey.  Dodd's  photographs,  which  were  mounted  in  a 
small  but  highly-ornamented  album,  were  hardly  ready  in 
time.  Indeed,  he  arrived  by  down  train  with  them  only 
just  before  she  left  the  station  in  the  up. 

He  came  breathless  over  the  bridge,  and  pushed  his  way 
through  the  little  group  about  the  carriage  door.  The 
porters,  who  were  also  Desire's  friends,  had  gathered  there  to 
the  annoyance  of  other  passengers,  who  had  rather  to  do 
without  them  that  day. 

"  It  wasn't  done  in  time  for  me  to  send  it,"  Dodd 
explained,  panting  a  little  as  he  put  his  parcel  into  Desire's 
hand.  Then  he  remembered  the  manners  on  which  he 
prided  himself,  and  asked  her  to  do  him  the  honour  of 
accepting  the  trifle. 

She  accepted  it  with  flushing  face  and  softening  eyes,  just 
as  if  it  were  a  great  honour  ;  as  if  he  were  a  great  man  and  it 
a  great  gift,  something  wonderful.  To  her  it  was  wonderful, 
to  be  remembered  and  thought  of  by  any  one  ;  to  have  people 
like  her,  care  that  she  left,  was  sweet  and  touching  ;  it  never 
lost  its  freshness  or  failed  to  surprise  her,  no  matter  how 
often  it  occurred.  She  always  forgot  the  times  which  had 
gone  before,  and  only  remembered  that  she  had  done  little 
to  deserve  it.  She  stood  in  the  carriage  doorway  now  ;  the 
seats  within  were  littered  with  her  coats  and  cloaks,  and 
things  which  would  not  go  anywhere  else,  and  also  with  the 
unwieldy  gifts.  In  her  hands  were  the  wallflowers,  and  now 
Dodd's  little  parcel.  Her  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  stood 
there — tears  for  Dodd  and  Mr.  Williams  and  the  quarrymen 

310 


DESIRE 

and  porters  and  every  one  except  Peter.  It  was  all  "  except 
Peter,"  that  send  off.  Peter  brought  no  farewell  gift ;  Peter 
won  no  tearful  smile,  no  parting  admonition  or  ridiculous 
laughing  comment  which  left  a  sunny  memory.  There  was 
no  last  handshaking  for  Peter,  no  farewells  hurried  by  the 
starting  of  the  train  ;  they  did  not  touch  one  another,  they 
scarcely  spoke.  Only,  when  the  quickening  train  passed 
under  the  bridge,  it  was  on  Peter  that  her  eyes  were — eyes 
whose  memory  he  carried  back  to  the  lonely  grey  house. 


CHAPTER   XX 

IN  September,  some  six  months  and  more  after  leaving 
Twycross,  Desire  wrote  the  following  letter.  She  did  not 
post  it,  though  why  is  not  quite  clear,  for  it  certainly  had 
the  appearance  of  being  written  to  Peter,  and  of  being  meant 
to  be  posted — 

"  fichy,  September  15. 

"  This,  O  sole  Working  Representative  of  the  Firm  of 
Grimstone — this  is  a  chronicle  of  small  beer.  I  do  not  apologize, 
1  write  for  my  delectation,  not  yours.  It  is  long  since  you  have 
heard  from  me,  so  you  ought  to  like  it — or  at  least  pretend  that 
you  do. 

"  At  present  we  take  a  cure,  Cousin  Phoebe  and  I ;  she  does  it 
for  the  good  of  her  joints,  also  incidentally  her  physician ;  I  do  it 
for  pleasures  of  experience.  For  long  the  nature  of  my  disease  has 
troubled  the  curists,  I  somehow  dont  look  a  desperate  case ;  at  last 
an  embassy  of  two  has  approached  me.  In  strict  confidence  I  told 
them  I  was  suffering  from  imaginitis — /  am  not  sure  if  they  have 
yet  diagnosed  it. 

"  Before  this,  I  mean  before  the  cure,  c  Miss  Desire  Quebell 
was  the  guest  of  Lord  and  Lady  Dmfield,  at  Dinfield  Towers, 
where  a  select  house  party  was  assembled '  all  for  to  slay  the  little 
grouse  bird.  Miss  Desire  Quebell  did  not  do  any  slaying,  but 
she  went  out  with  the  guns,  which  was  decent  enough ;  and 
gambled  and  talked,  and  went  on  much  as  usual  in  such  circum- 
stances in  between  whiles,  which  was  rather  dreary.  Alas ! — /  do 

312 


DESIRE 

find  such  things  a  bit  dreary  at  times — something  has  spoiled  my 
taste  for  play,  all  sorts  of  play,  gambling  and  fooling  equally. 
It's  sickening  to  lose  a  faculty ',  but  it's  what  we  all  come  to  ;  old 
age  and  boredom  are  creeping  upon  me,  in  fact  they  have  crept. 

"  To  tell  the  truth  I  am  taking  the  cure  because  of  the  lost 
faculty — not  as  a  remedy^  man  ami,  don't  be  obvious  and  say 
that — but  because  duty  to  an  ailing  relative  is  an  excellent  reason 
for  not  going  to  houses  where  you  are  bored.  At  two  have  I 
stayed^  at  two  have  I  week-ended  since  the  I2th — no  more,  thank 
you,  just  yet. 

"  Be  satisfied :  I  have  some  pearls  !  I  told  you  if  ever  I 
was  in  circumstances  to  want  them  I  should  have  them,  and  I 
was  right. — A  short  string,  not  a  long  one  like  my  others,  but 
better  pearls.  They  are  Cousin  Phoebe's ;  I  don't  know  what 
aged  relative  she  got  them  from,  but  she  has  given  me  the  use  of 
them.  She  says  she  has  given  them  to  me  to  save  probate  at  her 
death  ;  but  I  tell  her  I  will  have  the  use  of  them  only,  and  leave 
them  behind  when  I  flit.  I  have  pointed  out  to  her  that,  through 
no  fault  of  my  own,  I  seem  to  have  a  habit  of c  softly  and  silently 
vanishing  away '  like  the  people  who  see  a  boojum. 

"  Well,  for  the  present  I  wear  the  pearls  when  I  go  out  to 
parties  and  such.  I  went  to  many  parties  before  I  left  town. 
Did  I  tell  you  when  I  wrote  last  that  you  were  right  about  its 
not  mattering  where  I  lived  in  town  ?  On  the  whole  I  prefer 
Brunswick  Square,  I  think,  there's  more  variety ;  I  see  as  much 
as  I  want  of  the  old  lot — Not  more,  we're  not  on  the  telephone, 
also  whenever  I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere  I  find  it  too  far — 
so  convenient.  Cousin  Phcebe  is  heroic,  she  puts  up  with  my 
friends,  and  my  vagaries,  and  my  hours  in  a  Spartan  manner. 
I'm  afraid  she  has  her  reasons,  she  and  the  step-mother  had  a 
row  royal  over  me  it  seems ;  it  also  seems  she  has  always  hated 
Lady  Quebell  pretty  considerably.  I'm  afraid  my  liberty  and 
general  encouragement  to  go  forth  and  shine  is  part  of  a  scheme 

3'3 


DESIRE 

of  spite.  1  wish  it  wasn't,  I  hate  that  kind  of  thing,  it  seems 
somehow  not  in  the  least  worth  while.  I  met  the  step-mother  of 
course  several  times ;  it  appeared  to  be  awkward  to  her,  I  was 
so  sorry,  it  really  need  not  have  been,  there's  no  earthly  reason 
why  we  should  not  be  as  pleasant  as  anything.  I  fancy  she  gave 
up  one  or  two  parties  for  fear  of  meeting  me  again ;  then  I  gave 
up  one  or  two  for  fear  of  embarrassing  her  by  my  presence — It 
is  all  very  ridiculous. 

"  One  night  at  a  big  affair  I  met  Edward  Gore  and  his  wife 
— she  is  his  wife  now.  He  has  altered,  altered  tremendously — 
perhaps  you  will  suggest,  as  I  remember  you  did  once  before,  that 
it  may  be  I  and  my  point  of  view  that  have  altered.  I  don't 
know,  I  think  it  must  be  both,  one  alone  could  not  account  for  the 
difference.  Still,  I  was  glad  to  see  the  Gores,  especially  her. 
It  was  so  nice  to  see  her  with  him  in  his  proper  position,  recog- 
nized and  all  the  sort  of  thing  she  wanted.  When  I  caught  sight 
of  her  I  made  for  her  right  away,  to  tell  her  how  awfully  glad 
I  was  to  see  her.  And  do  you  know,  she  coloured  a  little  and 
seemed  almost  afraid  of  me  !  And  he  looked  as  if  hid  rather 
have  met  any  one  else  in  the  world;  he  was  frigid,  I  believe, 
with  embarrassment  or  fear  or  something.  She  and  I  talked 
weather-talk  for  five  minutes,  and  then  he  hurried  her  away, 
though  they  had  only  just  come.  I  fancy  no  one  but  me  knows 
anything  really  of  this  affair,  I  suppose  they  were  afraid  of 
something  coming  out  through  me.  Or  maybe  it  is  that  they 
themselves  have  buried  it — -folks  do  seem  able  to  bury  things  and 
pretend  they  are  not  there — and  my  appearance  was  like  a  bit 
of  resurrection.  I  dont  know.  It's  extraordinary  to  me — As 
if  it  mattered,  as  if  anything  mattered 

"  That  meeting  with  them  led  me  to  give  up  some  other 
functions.  I  didnt  mind  meeting  them,  I  should  not  have  chosen 
iff  talk  much  to  them  of  course,  because  they  disappointed  me,  but 
there  are  always  plenty  of  other  people — but  it  was  plain  they 


DESIRE 

did  not  want  to  meet  me.  So  I  abstained  from  several  entertain- 
ments on  their  account,  but  I  can't  pretend  it  was  pain  and  grief 
to  me  to  do  it.  I'm  afraid,  these  tiresome  contretemps  apart,  I 
do  not  care  for  things  as  I  used.  I  don't  care,  it's  no  good  pre- 
tending I  do.  One  outgrows  it,  or  one  loses  touch,  or  something, 
I'm  getting  very  old.  Boys  and  girls  are  expected  to  outgrow 
marbles  and  dolls,  and  in  middle-class  life  young  men  and  women, 
the  ones  with  stuff  in  them,  are  expected  to  outgrow  games  and 
dancing  and  generally  playing — Why,  I  wonder,  when  one  has 
more  money,  is  one  expected  to  have  less  sense  ?  '  Le  monde  qut 
s' amuse '  begins  to  strike  me  rather  as  a  case  of  arrested  develop- 
ment, doesn't  it  you  ?  Well,  my  mother  wasn't  even  middle- 
class,  and  my  father  was  a  man  who  worked,  I  suppose  I  don't 
belong,  that's  the  truth  of  it. 

"  The  Brunswick  Squarers — they  mostly  don't  live  in  Bruns- 
wick Square,  by  the  way — They  say  they  are  commonplace,  at 
least  they  say  each  other  are,  and  as  they  all  say  it  it  follows  they 
all  must  be.  But  they  are  all  quite  different,  and  if  they  are  all 
commonplace,  then  it's  a  fascinating  quality.  I  should  not  like 
too  much  of  them  of  course,  but  then  I  should  not  like  too  much 
of  any  one  I  fear — Oh,  for  a  great  great  silence,  a  solitude  you 
can  feel,  a  silence  you  can  hear  ! 

"  /  had  it  once  while  I  was  staying  in  Yorkshire  last  month. 
I  got  away  on  Sunday  afternoon,  out  alone  and  up  on  to  the  moor, 
a  big,  big  place  where  there  were  curlew.  But  a  man  who  was 
staying  in  the  house  came  after  me — or  perhaps  met  me,  anyhow 
he  turned  up.  He  was  Julian  Lee,  by  the  way,  the  man  who 
wrote  to  you  for  my  address.  I'm  afraid  I  was  not  very  nice  to 
him  about  the  address,  nor  very  nice  to  him  that  Sunday.  After 
talking  to  him  for  about  ten  minutes,  I  just  asked  him  if  he'd 
mind  going  on  or  walking  back,  as  I  wanted  to  be  alone.  He 
went  like  a  lamb,  he  really  is  a  good  sort ;  but  of  course  the  spell 
was  broken,  also  I  repented  of  my  nastiness  all  the  way  home, 


DESIRE 

which  was  uncomfortable.  I  knew  by  his  face  he  didn't  like  it, 
and,  as  I  say,  he  has  been  decent  to  me  and  never  plagued  me 
with  silly  questions, 

"  /  took  the  curate  to  the  Tivoli  before  leaving  London.  I 
dined  him  first  and  took  him  there  afterwards,  it  rather  took  his 
breath  away,  I'm  not  sure  that  the  dining  didn't  do  it  most,  but 
I'm  sure  it  was  good  for  him.  He  has  renounced  the  pomps  and 
vanities  of  the  wicked  world  without  knowing  anything  about 
them — a  Saint  Francis  sort  of  person — But  I  have  told  you  about 
him  before.  He's  Cousin  Phoebe's  curate,  but  my  friend. 

"  /  have  another  friend,  too,  now,  he  is  a  draper's  assistant — 
/  have  not  mentioned  this  fact  to  Cousin  Phoebe,  nor  have  I 
mentioned  the  curate  and  the  Tivoli.  She  has  prejudices.  We 
all  have. 

"  My  draper  is  a  socialist  and  a  reformer,  and  all  manner  of 
sincere  and  uncomfortable  things.  Such  an  odd  man,  and  so 
immensely  real !  I  suppose  he  is  what  is  called  well-read,  I've 
never  met  it  before,  it  rather  sticks  out  of  him  at  times ;  but  in 
spite  of  it  I  like  him,  he  is  so  earnest  and  so  really  and  simply 
spends  himself  for  other  people  and  the  things  in  which  he  believes. 
He  comes  to  the  boys'  club,  fancy  working  in  a  shop — a  draper's 
shop,  where  tiresome  women  worry — all  day  and  then  giving 
your  evenings  to  a  boys'  club  !  It  was  at  the  club  I  met  him ; 
we  did  not  get  on  at  first,  but  now  we  are  friends,  and  before  I 
left  town  he  used  to  come  sometimes  on  early  closing  days  and  have 
tea  with  me  in  the  minute  sanctum  which  Cousin  Phoebe  has 
given  me  to  be  untidy  in.  St.  Francis  turned  up  one  day  when 
he  was  there ;  they  were  as  shy  of  each  other  as  possible,  though 
they  knew  each  other  quite  well,  it  was  so  odd.  Fortunately 
Julian  Lee  came  also  that  afternoon,  four's  a  much  easier  number 
than  three,  and  he  really  is  a  comfortable  person. 

"  /  invited  the  draper  to  do  a  theatre  with  me  before  I  left 
town — a  Shaw  play  and  supper  quietly  after.  But  he  wouldn't ; 


DESIRE 

/  wish  he  had,  I'm  sure  it  would  have  been  as  good  for  him  as 
the  Tlvoli  was  for  St.  Francis,  neither  of  them  have  any  idea  of 
recreating. 

"  You  remember  the  amiable  Bamfield,  who  introduced  you 
without  knowing  who  you  were  ?  He  has  unexpectedly  come 
into  property  ;  poor  dear,  it's  quite  embarrassing  to  him  to  know 
where  to  turn  for  a  fiver,  his  so  long  been  unused  to  such  affluence. 
He  grew  really  sentimental  when  telling  me,  and  spoke  with 
feeling  upon  the  loneliness  of  his  big  house.  Whereupon  I  suggested 
he  should  invite  the  boys'1  club  to  do  a  fortnight's  camping  on  his 
estate  at  his  expense.  And  he  did  it  too,  like  a  brick. 

"  The  club  flourishes.  There  is  a  new  department  added — 
Hooligans.  It  is  mine  own.  One  evening  when  I  was  out, 
4  when  I  didn't  oughter  bej  I  met  a  small  band.  One  tried  to 
bar  my  way,  in  fun  solely,  but  I  was  furious  for  a  moment.  It 
was  perfectly  ridiculous,  but  I'm  ashamed  to  say  I  felt  my  muscles 
all  grow  taut  and  myself  sort  of  draw  up  for  a  felling  blow  ; 
fortunately,  however,  the  ludicrousness  of  it  struck  me  in  time, 
and  I  laughed  aloud.  They  looked  rather  astonished,  and  the  one 
with  the  stick  rather  sheepish ;  by  the  way,  he  had  raised  his 
stick  on  guard,  so  I  suppose  my  first  fury  had  shown  in  my  face. 

"  '  You  don't  know  much  about  fencing,  if  that's  your  notion 
of  guard,'  I  said  to  him.  '  Why,  I  could  disarm  you  in  a 
minute,  I'll  show  you.' 

"  /  made  him  come  out  where  there  was  room,  and  borrowed 
somebody  else's  stick  and  showed  him.  The  others  were  frightfully 
pleased. 

"  That  was  my  first  introduction  ;  since  then  I  have  got  to 
know  them  very  well,  and,  as  I  say,  have  a  sort  of  new  depart- 
ment of  the  boys'  club.  No  one  but  me  has  much  to  do  with  them, 
St.  Francis  can't  get  on  with  them  very  well,  nor  can  the  others ; 
they  say  it  is  difficult  work.  It  isn't,  it  doesn't  strike  me  as 
work  at  all.  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  think  I  shall  really  and 

317 


DESIRE 

truly  take  to  /V,  I  like  it.     I  expect  there  are  a  good  many  of 
those  sort  of  youths  In  the  pottery  towns " 

The  writer  broke  off  here,  suddenly  becoming  aware 
where  her  thoughts,  or  at  least  the  expression  of  them,  might 
seem  to  be  trending. 

"  We  will  tear  off  this  sheet,"  she  said.  However,  she  did 
not  tear  it  then,  but  left  the  letter,  which  had  been  written 
in  sections  during  several  days,  unfinished. 

Ever  since  her  coming  to  town  in  February,  Desire  had 
written  such  letters  when  she  felt  inclined.  She  did  not 
always  post  them,  it  is  true  ;  sometimes  she  was  ashamed  of 
their  inordinate  length,  sometimes  she  decided  that  the 
incident  was  closed,  and  it  would  be  kinder,  more  sensible 
and  more  dignified  to  leave  it  alone.  At  other  times  she 
posted  them,  this  was  most  usually  when  she  had  lately 
heard  from  Peter.  He  had  written  occasionally  since  she 
had  left  Twycross,  but  not  very  often.  When  he  wrote  he 
answered  her  letters,  told  her  what  had  happened,  what  was 
happening,  sometimes  what  he  thought,  generally  rather 
shortly  but  always  exactly  as  if  he  had  been  speaking  to  her. 
When  the  letters  came  she  did  not  think  the  incident  closed, 
she  did  not  think  about  it  one  way  or  the  other. 

There  had  not  been  a  letter  for  a  long  time  now,  two 
months  or  more  ;  and  the  lengthy  epistle  she  wrote  during 
the  idle  days  at  Vichy  was  hardly  written  really  to  Peter. 
It  was  more  to  amuse  herself  and  for  the  sake  of  talking 
freely  to  somebody,  even  if  it  was  merely  a  paper  person. 
In  spite  of  that  it  reflected  her  present  life  and  her  attitude 
towards  it  well.  She  had  left  Twycross  more  than  six 
months,  and  with  her  joint  faculty  for  adapting  herself  to 
circumstances  and  circumstances  to  herself,  she  was  by  now 
fitted  into  her  present  surroundings  as  well  as  she  could  be. 


DESIRE 

It  is  true  that  where  things  rubbed  at  first  they  rubbed  still, 
and  where  she,  or  they,  originally  fell  short,  they  fell  still,  and 
seemed  likely  to.  It  is  true  also,  as  the  long  letter  indicated, 
that  a  good  deal  that  had  before  formed  the  greater  part  of 
her  life,  had  lost  its  savour.  But  then  there  were  other 
things  to  take  the  empty  place,  fresh  interests,  different 
people  with  different  aims.  Whatever  she  had  lost,  she  had 
not  lost  her  capacity  for  extracting  enjoyment  out  of  un- 
expected things,  and  momentarily  losing  herself  in  all 
manner  of  interests.  She  was  usually  in  a  cheerful  frame  of 
mind,  her  aptitude  for  fixing  her  attention  on  the  lights  was 
not  diminished.  At  Vichy  it  was  the  same  with  her  as  else- 
where, and  she  contrived  to  enjoy  herself.  There  were 
several  people  there  who  amused  her,  one  or  two  she  liked  ; 
Julian  Lee,  too,  came  for  a  day  or  two ;  he  was  passing 
through  to  somewhere,  he  said,  where,  did  not  appear,  and 
she  did  not  bother  him  to  invent  it.  The  fact  that  she  had 
not  heard  from  Peter  for  two  months  did  not  keep  her  awake 
at  nights  or  interfere  with  her  appetite  ;  she  put  it  out  of  her 
mind  three-quarters  of  the  time,  the  other  quarter — that 
concerned  nobody.  One  must  be  allowed  to  shut  the  door 
on  one's  self  and  one's  feelings  occasionally. 

'  The  long  letter,  which  related  Desire's  most  recent 
happenings,  was  broken  off  the  day  Lee  came.  It  was  left 
neglected  for  a  day  or  two  ;  indeed,  until  she  chanced  upon 
it  when  she  was  turning  over  her  writing  things  for  an 
address.  The  closely  written  sheets  fell  out  then,  and  Lee 
picked  them  up  as  they  fluttered  to  the  grass. 

"  I  didn't  know  you  were  such  a  correspondent,"  he  said. 

"  Didn't  you  ?  "  she  answered,  folding  them  together. 
"  I'm  really  rather  a  remarkable  one,  a  merciful  one  ;  I 
don't  send  it  all  when  I  spread  myself  on  paper." 

And  she  tore  off  the  last  sheet  as  she  spoke.     "  I  always 


DESIRE 

let  people  down  easily  if  I  can,"  she  said.  "  Ah,  the  post  !  " 
This  as  she  sighted  the  postman.  "Let's  hope  somebody 
has  done  the  same  by  me." 

There  were  several  letters  for  her,  but,  so  far  as  Lee  could 
see,  no  one  excited  her  interest  more  than  another.  "  Have 
you  got  anything  amusing  to  read  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  am  sure 
to  have,  and  then  I'm  dull  company." 

She  lighted  a  cigarette  and  proceeded  to  examine  her 
correspondence  leisurely  ;  the  letter  she  paid  the  compliment 
of  keeping  till  the  last  was  from  her  newest  friend,  the  shop- 
assistant.  That,  she  was  sure,  would  be  interesting,  though 
he  was  only  likely  to  have  written  to  tell  her  of  the  welfare 
of  some  protege  she  had  commended  to  his  notice.  But 
when  she  opened  it  she  experienced  something  of  a  shock  ; 
before  she  had  more  than  half  read  it  she  gave  an  exclamation 
of  dismay. 

«  Oh  !  "  she  said.    «  What  have  I  done  ? " 

Lee  looked  up  with  anxious  sympathy,  but  she  did  not 
heed  him  ;  she  had  returned  to  her  letter  and  was  scanning  it 
hastily,  distress  growing  in  her  face. 

"  What  a  dreadful  thing  !  "  she  said.  "  How  can  I  have 
come  to  do  it  ?  How  could  I  ?  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Lee  asked.  "  Is  anything  the  matter  ? 
Can  I  be  of  any  help  ? " 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  she  were  suddenly  made  aware  of 
his  forgotten  presence.  "  I've  done  a  dreadful  thing  !  "  she 
said,  as  much  to  herself  as  him.  "  It's  my  fault,  of  course. 
It  is  always  more  or  less  a  woman's  fault,  isn't  it,  when  a 
man  asks  her  to  marry  him  ? " 

Lee's  face  relaxed  j  he  had  never  before  seen  Desire 
distressed,  and  he  had,  for  the  moment,  feared  it  must  be 
some  great  calamity  to  have  moved  her  so.  The  relief 
showed  in  his  face,  also  the  surprise,  he  was  far  from  under- 

320 


DESIRE 

standing  the  woman  who  had  bewitched  him.  "  Is  that 
all  r  "  he  said. 

"  All !  "  she  returned.  "  Enough,  too.  You  don't  know 
the  case.  I  wouldn't  have  had  this  happen  for  a  good  deal." 

Lee  accepted  the  rebuke  with  meekness.  "  I'm  awfully 
sorry  it's  upset  you,"  he  said  sympathetically.  "  I  had  no  idea 
these  things  cut  you  up  so." 

In  spite  of  herself  Desire  laughed  a  little.  "  They  don't," 
she  confessed  ;  "  not  always,  but  this  is  exceptional.  This 
man  doesn't  exactly  belong,  it  was  a  difficult  thing  for  him 
to  do,  clearly  it  was,  nothing  but  desperation  made  him — 
and  it's  everything  in  the  world  to  him,  I  mean  it  seems  to 
matter  so  frightfully." 

She  took  up  the  letter  with  a  little  shiver.  "I'm  not 
worth  any  one's  caring  like  that,"  she  said.  "  I  shouldn't 
satisfy  any  one  really,  certainly  not  one  who  doesn't  really 
know  me.  It's  awful  to  have  people  care  when  you  are 
not  worth  it." 

Lee  wisely  refrained  from  any  comment  on  the  disjointed 
remarks,  except  an  acquiescence  he  did  not  entirely  feel. 
He  watched  covertly  as  she  took  up  the  forgotten  cigarette 
and  smoked  hard  in  evident  perturbation  of  mind. 

"  It'll  be  nasty  to  answer,  that  letter  ? "  he  suggested,  after 
a  little. 

"  Nasty  ?  It'll  be  almost  impossible  !  Whatever  I  say, 
however  I  put  it,  he  is  bound  to  believe  I  think  him 
presumptuous,  and  don't  think  him  good  enough,  and  all 
that." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  he  is,"  the  American  remarked 
comfortably. 

"  He  is,"  Desire  retorted,  forgetting  that  she  had  excluded 
him  from  any  knowledge  of  the  writer's  identity  ;  "  besides, 
what  does  position  and  that  matter  ?  Good  Lord  ! "  her 
21  321 


DESIRE 

changing  voice  rang  suddenly  as  with  passion.  "If  you 
loved  anybody  it  wouldn't  matter  who  they  were  or  what 
they  were,  would  it  ? " 

Lee  looked  at  her  meditatively.  "  No,"  he  answered  ;  "  I 
should  say  not." 

Fortunately  she  missed  the  personal  allusion ;  she  was 
turning  over  the  letter. 

"It's  so  humble  and  yet  somehow  so  proud,"  she  said 
miserably.  "  He  states  his  prospects  and  his  income  quite 
frankly — says  we  could  just  do  on  it,  and  then  talks  about 
the  gap  between  us  !  He  says  he  never  forgot  it.  Just  as 
if  I  didn't  know  that,  as  if  he  wasn't  making  it  plain  all  the 
time,  making  it  gruesomely  plain  now  in  showing  that  it 
counts  as  anything  to  him.  It  wouldn't  count  a  snap  of  the 
fingers  to  me  if  I  cared ! " 

Lee  looked  up  sharply,  he  suddenly  guessed  who  the 
writer  was.  That  is  to  say  he  got  within  range  of  the  truth 
and  decided  he  must  be  a  man  not  in  her  original  set,  one  of 
those  with  whom  she  had  been  doing  philanthropic  or  other 
work.  And  in  spite  of  his  American  birth  he  resented  it, 
it  was  in  his  eyes  presumptuous  for  such  an  one  to  address 
Desire.  However,  he  had  the  sense  not  to  say  so,  perceiving 
that  she  evidently  considered  that,  when  a  man  asked  a 
woman  to  marry  him,  and  offered  her  the  best  he  had  to 
give,  he  was  paying  her  the  greatest  compliment  in  his 
power,  and  honouring  her — no  matter  what  his  position 
might  be,  or  hers  either. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "if,  as  he  says,  he  didn't  forget  his 
position,  and  misunderstand  your  kindness,  you  can't  blame 
yourself  for  what  has  happened." 

"But  I  do,"  Desire  said.  "My  step-mother  told  me 
long  ago  that  I  misled  men  more  than  any  woman  she  had 
ever  met." 

322 


DESIRE 

"That's  because  they  want  to  be  misled,"  Lee  assured 
her. 

She  did  not  agree,  but  he  maintained  that  it  was  so.  "  It's 
like  this,"  he  said,  "  about  every  second  man  you  meet  falls 
more  or  less  in  love  with  you,  if  he  has  anything  much  to 
do  with  you.  Don't  feel  compelled  to  modestly  deny  it,  it's 
approximately  true,  though  I  may  be  a  trifle  out  in  the 
figures.  A  few  of  them  think  you  care  a  bit  for  them,  they 
mistake  your  way — and  you  have  got  a  way  of  going  head- 
long into  a  fellow's  affairs  that's  flattering.  But  it  isn't  love, 
and  nobody  in  his  senses  thinks  it  is  j  only  some  few  do 
think,  'if  she  takes  that  interest  in  me  I  shall  be  able  to 
bamboozle  her  into  swallowing  me  whole.'  But  most  of 
them  don't  think  much  about  it,  they  fall  in  love  with  you 
because  they  can't  help  it.  It  kind  of  makes  a  man's  arm 
ache  to  keep  it  still  all  evening  when  he's  sitting  next  to 
you.  And  to  keep  on  hearing  '  friend  talk '  in  your  voice 
— well,  it  makes  a  man  dream  at  nights — and  not  dream 
about  friends.  You  can't  help  it,  and  we  can't — don't  want 
to,  but  it  always  will  be  so.  You'll  never  be  able  to  be 
much  with  men,  certainly  not  work  with  them,  without 
that  sort  of  thing  being  liable  to  happen.  Some  fellows  may 
have  the  sense  not  to  tell  you,  that's  the  main  difference,  the 
feeling  is  the  same  with  most  of  them,  however  the  sense 
may  be." 

"  Thank  you,"  Desire  said  ;  "  I'm  immensely  obliged  to 
you  for  explaining  it  all  so  clearly  ;  the  only  weak  point  is 
that  you're  judging  the  rest  of  the  world  by  yourself  and — 
isn't  that  a  little  hard  on  the  world  ? " 

Lee  smiled  but  glanced  towards  the  open  letter.  "  I  guess 
there's  a  certain  family  resemblance  between  a  good  many  of 
us  where  you're  concerned,"  he  said. 

Desire  flushed  a  little,  but  next  moment  put  a  question. 

323 


DESIRE 

"  You  don't  think  a  man  ever  cared  for  my  sou — for  what 
I'm  pleased  to  call  my  mind  ?  "  she  asked.  "  You  don't  think 
there  ever  was  a  man  who  liked  the  intangible  part  of  me 
only,  who — whose  '  arm  didn't  ache '  when  he  was  with  me, 
who  rather  wanted  to  see  a  good  lot  of  me  but  never  wanted 
to  touch  me  ? " 

Lee  shook  his  head.    "  No,"  he  said  ;  "  can't  be  done." 

"  You  think  not  r "  she  smiled  triumphantly.  "  Then 
you're  wrong,  there  is  such  an  one." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Did  he  tell  you  so  ? "  he 
asked  with  significance. 

"  No,  but  I  know  it,"  she  answered  ;  "  I  know  his  mind  as 
he  knows  mine,  you  see.  Oh,  I  don't  suspect  you  of  that 
sort  of  thing," — her  tone  changed  to  lightness  again — 
"  you've  expressed  how  you  feel  and  judged  the  rest  by 
yourself.  Fortunately  time'll  soon  cure  all  that.  Old  age 
approaches  me  and  then  even  your  gallantry  won't  suggest — 

"  Time  cannot  change  her, 
Nor  custom  stale  her  infinite  variety," 

Lee  quoted.  "  It's  no  good  ;  look  your  own  experience 
fairly  in  the  face  and  you'll  see  it.  You  are  dangerous  goods 
and  you  always  will  be." 

Desire  declined  to  look  at  her  experiences  or  any  one  else's. 
"  Shall  we  talk  about  the  weather  ? "  she  said.  "  It'll  be  a 
more  interesting  subject." 

"  There  is  no  subject  so  interesting,"  he  assured  her  j 
"  you  are  the  most  fascinating  subject  I  know,  and  the  most 
dangerous — and  you  will  be  till  you  are  safely  married." 

She  promptly  and  emphatically  denied  it. 

But  all  the  same  his  words  struck  a  new  note  in  her  mind 
— the  wisdom  of  marriage  for  other  reasons  besides  worldly 
advancement,  the  safety  and  settlement  in  it  and  the  com- 

324 


DESIRE 

parative  peace  and  satisfaction  in  its  finality.  Lady  Quebell 
had  always  advocated  marriage  for  Desire's  own  advantage. 
Lee,  quickly  perceiving  the  value  of  his  opportunity,  began 
to  advocate  it  on  every  other  plea  and  for  every  one  else's 
advantage  except  her  own.  And  Desire  ridiculed  everything 
— and  listened. 

"But,"  she  objected  at  last,  "supposing  I  were  married — 
oh,  we'll  say  to  you,  as  it's  the  only  person  you  will  admit 
into  the  argument — do  you  suppose  all  the  wonderful  things 
you  described  would  leave  off  happening  ?  You  think 
people  would  leave  off  falling  in  love  ? " 

"  They'd  leave  off  telling  you  so,"  Lee  said,  "  at  least  the 
more  decent  ones,  the  ones  you  care  about  hurting,  would. 
And  they'd  all  of  them  have  less  reason  and  less  excuse  for 
mistaking  your  meaning,  and  less  opportunity  generally 
for  making  fools  of  themselves.  I  really  believe  you'd  be 
happier  and  more  comfortable  married,  and  I'm  perfectly 
certain  it'd  be  better  for  every  one  else." 

"  Including  you  ?  Oh,  my  poor  man,  little  do  you  know 
what  you're  saying  !  I  like  you  immensely,  but  I  don't  love 
you  a  scrap.  I  find  you  a  most  useful,  a  most  comfortable 
person,  but  I  should  never  dream  of  changing  my  spots  for 
you  or  obeying  you,  or,  on  your  account,  going  any  way  but 
my  own,  and  that,  do  you  know  what  that  spells  in 
matrimony  for  people  like  me  ? — destruction." 

"  I'm  open  to  risking  it,"  Lee  said,  "  and  I  rather  believe 
you'd  better.  It'd  be  a  heap  better  for  a  lot  of  fellows  if  you 
did.  Oh,  not  the  mind  man,  of  course  it  wouldn't  make 
any  difference  to  him  !  Being  mind  he  doesn't  want  to 
marry  you,  and  you  don't  want  to  marry  him,  minds  don't 
marry,  they're  like  the  angels.  But  matter  does,  and — well, 
why  not  take  me  for  the  mundane  side  of  things  and  the 
good  of  your  fellow-men  ? " 

325 


DESIRE 

There  were  many  reasons  why  not,  Desire  said  ;  she  stated 
them,  mostly  with  a  lightness  which  made  it  hard  to  tell  how 
much  she  meant.  He  answered  them,  however,  and  though 
he  did  not  apparently  convince  her,  he  believed  that  his  cause 
was  advanced. 

He  left  her  when  she  told  him  she  must  answer  the  dis- 
tressing letter  that  day.  He  rather  fancied  that  re-reading 
it  and  facing  the  difficulties  of  an  answer  would  argue  in  his 
favour  quite  as  strongly  as  he  could  himself.  And  no  doubt 
he  was  right,  she  found  refusing  this  proposal  an  extremely 
difficult  and  very  distressing  thing ;  she  shrank  from  the 
thought  of  the  pain  she  was  giving,  the  false  impression  she 
was  creating,  and  also  from  the  idea  that  such  a  thing  might 
occur  again.  She  told  herself  the  last  was  impossible,  but 
past  experience,  honestly  faced,  did  not  bear  that  out.  Pain- 
ful things  had  befallen  before,  not  the  least  painful  the  affair 
of  her  engagement  to  Gore  and  its  ending.  Painful  things, 
as  this  unexpected  passion  of  a  man  with  whom  she  had  only 
thought  to  work  befell  now.  She  was  a  little  weary,  more 
than  a  little  weary,  and  perhaps  a  trifle  afraid  ;  since  a  certain 
Saturday  night  in  February  she  had  better  understood  the 
power  of  passion. 

And  Peter  ?  She  had  acted  lovers  with  him  to  serve  her 
own  purpose,  she  had  worked  with  him  to  serve  hers  and  his 
too ;  he  had  helped  her  in  trouble  and  taken  her  help  j  he 
had  shared  home  and  life  with  her  ;  but,  as  Lee  said,  he  had 
no  part  nor  lot  in  the  matter.  They  had  lived  together  in 
frank  intimacy,  they  had  sat  together  by  the  dying  mother, 
they  had  knelt  together  in  the  lonely  chapel  in  the  hills,  they 
knew  each  other  intimately,  but  physically  they  did  not 
touch.  She  had  secretly  wished  that  some  man  should  for- 
get her  body  and  be  drawn  to  her  mind  and  soul.  One  had  : 
that  was  all.  It  was  an  interlude,  no  more,  a  dream — and 

326 


DESIRE 

one  does  not  live  in  dreams.  It  behoves  one,  rather,  to  live 
as  little  ill  as  one  may,  as  little  hurtfully  in  a  world  where 
there  is  no  dream  glamour,  though  still  a  good  deal  of 
ordinary  sunshine  for  those  who  are  wise  enough  to  pick  it 
out  and  not  cry  for  the  radiance  of  the  gods'  world  in  this 
place  of  men. 

How  much  of  this  Lee  guessed  is  not  certain,  he  probably 
had  some  idea  of  the  conclusions  if  not  much  knowledge  of 
the  way  they  were  arrived  at.  At  all  events  he  knew 
enough  of  the  trend  of  Desire's  feelings  to  press  his  suit  with 
discretion  when  favourable  opportunity  offered .  during  the 
time  he  was  at  Vichy.  When  he  left  he  carried  with  him 
a  belief  that,  sooner  or  later,  she  would  marry  him.  She  had 
not  said  so  ;  with  a  caution  rather  unusual  in  her  she  had 
not  committed  herself  at  all,  but  he  believed  that  she  would 
eventually  do  it  if  for  the  comfort  and  general  sensibleness 
and  peace  of  the  arrangement. 

It  is  possible  other  people  thought  so  too,  at  all  events 
Miss  Quebell  showed  an  unusual  interest  in  Lee's  going, 
and  the  possible  time  of  his  coming  again. 

"  He  returns  in  three  days,"  Desire  told  her  with  a  smile 
— she  guessed  the  reason  of  her  cousin's  interest.  "  He  asks 
me  then,  if  he  thinks  the  moment  good,  to  marry  him  ;  if  he 
thinks  the  moment  bad,  he  holds  his  peace.  He  is  no  fool, 
is  our  friend  Julian,  he  seldom  bores  one  inopportunely." 

"Are  you  going  to  marry  him  ?"  Miss  Quebell  asked  in 
her  definite  tones.  Hers  was  a  definite  mind,  and  a  definite 
world,  all  blacks  and  whites  and  prearranged  plans  ;  not 
unnaturally  Desire  was  somewhat  beyond  its  radius. 

"  Am  I  going  to  marry  him  because  he  doesn't  bore 
me?"  Desire  said.  "That's  rather  a  good  reason  for 
marrying  a  man,  I  own — one  of  the  best." 

"  The  best  reason,"  Miss  Quebell  returned  rather  severely, 

327 


DESIRE 

"  used  to  be  considered  because  you  loved  him,  and  because 
he  was  in  a  proper  position  to  marry  you." 

"  Oh,  that  !  "  Desire  said,  "  that's  asking  too  much, 
you  know.  Love  is  unreason,  it's  glamour,  romance  ;  you 
can't  expect  to  love  a  proper  position  and  a  goodly  number 
of  thousands  a  year  ;  you  like  them,  esteem  them,  admire 
and  appreciate  them — but  love — why,  it's  a  little  naked 
thing  ;  it  hasn't  anything  to  do  with  common-sense." 

"  You  haven't  much,"  Miss  Phcebe  observed  grimly. 
"  Then  you  don't  love  this  man,  is  that  what  you  mean  ? " 

"  Of  course  not,"  Desire  answered.  "  Why,  I'm  ap- 
proaching twenty-eight,  also  I  have  lived,  yes,  considerably  ; 
one  can't  expect  romantic  emotion  at  my  age  and  experience. 
I  like  the  man  much,  I  know  him,  and  he,  more  or  less, 
knows  me  ;  we  shouldn't  have  many  unpleasant  surprises  for 
each  other  if  we  did  marry  ;  indeed,  we  should  rather  start 
where  lover-people  arrive  after  six  months'  mixed  experience, 
so  if  we  skipped  the  rapture,  such  as  it  is,  we'd  skip  the 
descent  to  earth  likewise.  There  are  very  decided  advantages 
in  marrying  Julian  Lee." 

Miss  Quebell  nodded  ;  she  thought  so  too.  To  marry 
Desire  to  a  wealthy  and  eminently  eligible  husband,  be- 
sides being  a  satisfactory  settlement  of  Sir  Joseph's  daughter, 
would  be  an  occasion  for  triumph  over  Lady  Quebell,  who 
had  first  failed  in  the  attempt  and  afterwards  cast  out  the 
subject  of  failure.  Lee  had  a  strong  supporter  in  Miss 
Quebell,  and  one  who  knew  the  wisdom  of  not  pressing  his 
claim  unduly. 

"Well,  well,"  Desire  conceded  at  last,  "I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  I  had  to  marry  him  in  the  end  ;  it  looks  as  if  I 
should  have  to  marry  some  one,  and  he  really  is  a  pleasant 
person." 

Miss  Quebell,  well  satisfied,  departed  to  her  room.  It 

328 


DESIRE 

was  quite  early,  not  much  after  eight  o'clock,  but  part  of  her 
cure,  also  all  her  inclination,  was  to  go  to  bed  at  astonish- 
ingly early  hours. 

She  had  been  gone  something  more  than  half-an-hour, 
and  was,  no  doubt,  in  her  first  sleep,  when  a  telegram  was 
brought  to  Desire.  It  had  been  sent,  in  the  first  instance, 
to  Brunswick  Square,  and  repeated  on  from  there.  It  was 
for  Desire  herself,  from  Twycross ;  very  brief. 

"  There  is  trouble.— Robert" 

So  Desire  read,  and  rose  up  as  she  read. 

"  I  shall  be  leaving  by  the  night  train,"  she  said  to  the 
servant  who  had  brought  the  telegram.  "  See  about  a 
conveyance  for  me,  will  you  please,  and  send  one  of  the 
chambermaids  to  my  room  at  once  ;  Miss  Quebell's  maid  is 
out.  Yes,  I  shall  have  time — half-an-hour." 


329 


CHAPTER   XXI 

MRS.  ALEXANDER  GRIMSTONE  had  a  grievance  ;  that,  in 
itself  was  not  uncommon,  but  this  time  it  was  founded  on 
fact.  Alexander  had  allowed  her  to  accept  an  invitation  for 
them  both  to  go  to  Stoke,  to  go  to  the  theatre  with  some 
friends,  and  afterwards  stay  the  night,  and  now  he  said  he 
could  not  get  away.  Mrs.  Alexander  wept  from  pure  dis- 
appointment, and  said  as  much  as  she  dared  about  the  way 
Alexander  put  business  before  everything  and  cared  nothing  for 
her  or  for  their  friends'  convenience  or  any  one.  All  of  which, 
though  perfectly  true,  was  not  in  the  least  likely  to  affect 
Alexander.  He  did  not  so  much  as  trouble  to  contradict  it, 
he  merely  reminded  her,  somewhat  curtly,  that  he  had  not 
said  she  should  not  go  to  Stoke,  only  that  he  should  not ; 
that  she  certainly  was  to  go,  as  he  had  no  use  for  her  here,  in 
fact,  he'd  be  glad  to  have  her  gone  if  she  was  in  that  frame  of 
mind.  Whereupon  Mrs.  Alexander  dried  her  eyes  and 
wrote  immediately  to  her  friend,  telling  her  to  get  some  other 
man  in  place  of  Alexander,  who  could  not  come.  This  was 
eventually  done,  to  the  improvement  of  the  party — Alex- 
ander was  one  of  those  people  who  decidedly  improve  a 
party  by  staying  away  from  it. 

So  it  befell  that  on  a  certain  Tuesday  late  in  September, 
Mrs.  Alexander,  with  her  best  blouse  and  all  her  bracelets 
packed  in  a  dressing-bag,  went  to  Stoke,  and  Alexander 
stayed  late  at  his  office.  He  was  busy,  of  course,  he  always 
had  plenty  to  do  ;  but  not  so  busy,  apparently,  as  he  had  led 

330 


DESIRE 

his  wife  to  suppose.  Not  too  busy,  at  all  events,  to  sit  for  a 
little  with  no  other  occupation  than  his  toothpick  and  his 
thoughts.  He  was  thinking  of  Grimstones',  of  course  ;  the 
vertical  line  between  his  brows  usually  meant  that  he  was 
thinking  of  the  old  firm  and  the  way  it  had  failed  to  do  what 
he  had  expected,  and  the  way  he  himself  had  failed  in  this 
matter.  Here  was  September  again,  and  almost  a  year  since 
he  had  come  to  live  at  Twycross  ;  almost  eighteen  months 
since  Peter  had  been  sole  master  at  Grimstones',  and  still  the 
old  firm  stood  where  it  had  done.  No,  it  stood  a  good  deal 
better  than  it  had  done  for  many  years,  it  had  prospered 
wonderfully  in  spite  of  all  Alexander's  efforts. 

How  and  why  ?  For  a  long  time  Alexander  had  not  been 
able  to  find  out,  then  at  last  he  picked  up  a  clue,  Grimstones' 
took  orders  for  certain  shaped  ware  at  a  price  lower  than 
other  people's ;  the)*  took  largish  orders  for  that,  but  let 
other  things  go,  and  apparently,  in  spite  of  the  price,  made  a 
good  profit.  They  must  have  some  trick  or  secret  process 
for  manufacturing  these  articles  ;  a  trick  was  not  in  Peter's 
line,  but  a  secret  process  might  be.  Alexander  knew  some- 
thing of  the  curious  stupidity  of  inventors,  he  had  profited  by 
it  before  now.  Peter,  stupid  as  he  judged  him  to  be,  might 
still  have  invented  some  good  process.  If  he  had  he  had  not 
patented  it,  Alexander  easily  informed  himself  on  that  point; 
he  was  probably  working  it  as  a  secret,  a  thing  he  could 
very  easily  do  seeing  the  nature  of  the  men  who  were  still  all 
he  employed. 

It  was  in  July  that  Alexander  had  been  finally  convinced 
of  this.  And  no  sooner  was  he  convinced  than  he  at  once  set 
to  going  further  into  it.  Nothing  was  to  be  learnt  from  the 
men  he  knew  by  past  experience,  so,  without  hesitation,  he 
paid  a  second  nocturnal  visit  to  Grimstones' ;  this  time  it 
was  to  the  yard,  not  the  house.  He  remembered  the  old  ways 

331 


DESIRE 

of  the  place  perfectly  well,  it  was  not  likely  any  one  so  con- 
servative as  Peter  would  have  altered  them.  The  gates  used 
always  to  be  locked,  certainly,  but  nothing  else  was  ;  one 
might  easily  come  by  way  of  the  canal  and  effect  an 
entrance  pretty  well  anywhere — though,  it  is  true,  there 
never  had  been  anything  much  worth  the  trouble  of  carrying 
away.  Alexander  had  naturally  no  thought  of  carrying 
away,  but  a  look  round,  he  felt,  would  be  very  useful  to  him, 
a  careful  examination  was  likely  to  give  him  the  clue  to 
Peter's  secret  process.  A  few  notes,  a  diagram  if  there 
was  much  machinery  in  it,  would  enable  him  to  go  home 
and  probably  work  out  something  very  similar.  He  had  no 
inventive  genius  himself,  but  he  had  a  great  faculty  for 
grasping  another  man's  idea,  and  reconstructing  it  with  just 
sufficient  variation  as  to  make  a  thing  nominally  different. 
He  had  done  so  more  than  once,  to  his  own  advantage,  with 
inventions  which  had  been  submitted  to  him  j  he  intended 
to  do  so  with  Peter's  secret.  And  if  it  was  not  possible  to 
arrive  at  something  sufficiently  different  from  Peter's  pro- 
cess to  pass,  he  could  still  "  invent  "  that,  unknown  to  the 
original  inventor,  patent  it ;  and  leave  Peter,  the  original 
inventor,  the  expensive  business  of  fighting  for  his  own 
idea,  if  he  could.  And  whichever  way  the  case  went 
no  one,  not  even  Peter,  would  be  able  to  prove  the  coin- 
cidence of  the  identity  of  the  two  processes  was  other  than 
accident. 

Unfortunately  for  him,  however,  he  was  not  able  to  carry 
out  this  plan  when  he  made  it  in  July.  The  night  he  went 
to  the  yard  was  hot,  and  Paddy,  contrary  to  his  usual  custom, 
had  chosen  to  sleep  outside.  The  consequence  of  which 
was  that  he  disturbed  the  dog,  and  the  dog  disturbed  the 
household,  and  nothing  was  gained  that  night.  He  had,  of 
course,  taken  vengeance  on  the  dog  as  soon  afterwards  as  he 

332 


DESIRE 

conveniently  could  ;  but  Peter,  in  the  mean  time,  got  strong 
locks  for  all  the  outhouses,  and  even  had  bars  fixed  to  the 
window  of  the  one  substantial  shed,  where  it  was  easy  to 
guess  the  secret  process  was  carried  on. 

Thus  things  had  been  through  the  summer.  But  Alex- 
ander was  not  beaten ;  he  had  never  been  beaten  except  once 
— his  face  had  a  way  of  turning  curiously  greyish  whenever 
he  thought  of  that  once.  He  was  still  bent  on  seeing  what 
Peter  did,  and  how  he  did  it ;  but  it  was  clear  to  him  now 
that  the  thing  he  wanted  was  the  loan  of  the  key.  He  did 
not  like  taking  other  people  into  his  plans,  but  needs  must 
sometimes  ;  it  was  the  least  risky  thing,  in  fact,  the  only 
thing,  for  a  man  who  wanted  to  get  information  quietly. 
There  was  one  person  in  Grimstones'  to  whom  he  had  not 
before  made  overtures — this  because  he  believed  him  to  be 
too  stupid  to  be  any  use  ;  but  in  the  matter  of  the  key  he 
was  the  very  man.  Bolt,  he  remembered,  was  stupid,  but 
he  would  be  also  cunning  ;  he  was  surly  and  dull,  but  also 
entirely  untouched  by  gratitude,  loyalty,  or  any  of  the  other 
unreasonable  sentiments  which  occasionally  sway  men  to 
their  own  disadvantage.  Bolt  was  the  man  to  borrow  the 
key  for  a  price  ;  to  leave  it  in  some  safe  place  where  one 
who  knew  could  find  it,  and  to  take  it  again  from  that  place 
when  it  was  done  with,  and  before  any  one  else  was  the 
wiser.  And  Bolt  was  precisely  the  sort  of  person  who  need 
be  no  trouble  after  to  Alexander,  who  was  not  one  to  be 
sold  by  an  accomplice  of  any  but  extraordinary  brilliancy, 
and  not  lightly  even  by  such  a  one.  Every  man  had  his 
price,  though,  as  Alexander  had  found  out  during  the  last 
year  ;  it  was  not  necessarily  a  money  one.  Bolt  had  his  j  it 
would  be  a  money  one. 

So  Alexander  sat  that  September  evening  picking  his  teeth 
and  thinking,  but  the  thoughts  were  not  altogether  un- 

333 


DESIRE 

pleasant  ones  ;  indeed,  his  face  wore  a  look  of  some  satis- 
faction when  he  put  away  his  toothpick  and  returned  to 
work. 

It  was  very  late  when  he  left  the  office  ;  there  was  no 
late  train  out  to  Twycross  except  the  London  mail,  which 
stopped  there  after  two  in  the  morning  ;  usually,  when 
Alexander  was  kept  by  work  in  the  pottery  town,  he  stayed 
the  night  at  the  rooms  he  had  there.  To-night,  however, 
he  elected  to  come  by  the  mail.  People  at  Twycross  retired 
early  ;  they  had  all  long  been  in  bed  when  Alexander  came 
out  of  the  station  road.  There  was  absolutely  no  one 
about ;  no  one  saw  him  turn  to  the  left  when  he  reached 
the  main  road,  instead  of  going  down-hill  to  the  right  and 
to  the  town.  No  one  saw  him  pass  the  few  darkened 
houses  that  bordered  it,  and  take  the  elm-edged  lane  which 
led  steeply  upward  from  the  town  and  to  the  old  high 
road.  The  road,  white  and  winding,  was  quite  empty  ;  in 
the  darkness  one  could  still  see  it  dimly  far  ahead;  he  fol- 
lowed it,  and  for  some  considerable  way.  Past  the  group  of 
mountain  ash,  whose  berried  branches  rustled  in  the  wind  j 
past  the  lonely  grey  house,  where  one  lighted  window  told 
where  Ezra  Grimstone  still  lay  helpless  and  unconscious  of 
all  that  befell.  The  night  was  moist,  yet  breezy,  with  a 
fitful  wind  that  shook  the  hidden  gorse-bushes  now  and 
then  ;  starless,  too,  and  overcast  with  clouds  that  threatened 
rain  before  long.  In  spite  of  the  dark,  one  could  make  out 
the  whiteness  of  the  road,  and  even  the  way  it  became 
rougher  as  it  grew  higher  ;  make  out,  also,  a  loose  stone  wall 
that  here  bordered  it,  and  at  one  point  a  solitary  stone  post 
standing.  The  gate  originally  affixed  to  this  had  long  since 
fallen  from  it ;  the  top,  too,  had  at  some  time  been  knocked 
off,  leaving  a  hollowed  end  on  which  a  large  stone  was 
balanced.  There  was  a  gap  under  the  stone — one  could  not 

334 


DESIRE 

see  it  to-night,  but  one  could  find  it,  if  one  knew  where  to 
feel.     Apparently  Alexander  knew. 

And  Peter  ?  What  of  Peter  during  the  months  that  had 
elapsed  since  Desire  went  away  ?  Principally  he  had  worked ; 
there  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do.  There  was  plenty  of 
that  certainly,  and  he  did  plenty.  He  was  very  strong,  a 
magnificent  constitution  entirely  unabused  ;  physically  he 
was  never  tired,  mentally  he  accepted  life  as  it  was  and 
said  nothing.  Throughout  the  spring  and  early  summer,  in 
all  his  margins  of  time,  in  the  hours  he  had  before  devoted 
to  his  mother  or  spent  with  Desire,  he  had  returned  to  the 
long-abandoned  novel.  Slowly  it  had  grown  under  his 
hand  ;  slowly  and  with  infinite  difficulty  taking  shape  and 
becoming  informed  with  life.  Not  perhaps  quite  the  life  he 
had  planned  in  the  days  of  hope  when  he  began  it,  or  the 
one  he  had  striven  for  in  the  later  days  when  hard  necessity 
was  compelling  him  to  abandon  it,  but  still  life.  Writing 
it  was  not  at  all  easy  to  him  j  writing  never  had  been  easy  to 
him,  at  the  best  it  was  slow  building,  a  feeling  things  out. 
Now  the  time  for  it  was  in  scraps,  and  the  hand  that  wrote 
was  often  stiff  and  tired  ;  now  the  glamour  was  all  off,  past 
hope  and  past  desperation  alike  gone,  only  patience  and  per- 
sistence remaining.  So  the  book  was  written,  resurrected  in 
the  dead  after-time,  to  burn  a  wan  taper  in  a  lonely  place. 
Feeble  at  times,  a  little  unsteady,  for  the  writer  was  not  sure 
of  himself;  but  for  all  that  a  great  book,  great  at  heart,  great 
in  patience  and  tolerance,  and  the  wisdom  that  counts.  But 
the  author  did  not  know  it,  and  the  publisher  who  undertook 
to  produce  it  did  not  tell  him  so.  Indeed,  he  was  by  no 
means  sure  of  it  himself,  nor  sure  the  book  was  going  to 
have  a  public  worth  mentioning  ;  in  this  doubt  events  after- 
wards justified  him.  Even  when  it  was  all  set  up  and  ready 

335 


DESIRE 

he  held  it  back  a  while,  waiting  a  favourable  opportunity  for 
publishing.  Peter  did  not  mind,  he  was  in  no  hurry  to  see 
it  in  print ;  it  was  the  making  he  cared  about  and  missed, 
though  it  had  been  nearly  all  suffering.  That,  he  felt,  he 
could  not  replace,  it  seemed  to  him  then  that  no  further  book 
would  ever  be  possible  to  him,  not  so  much  as  a  thought  of 
one  stirred  in  his  brain  now. 

But  the  business  prospered.  In  the  work  he  had  set  him- 
self to  do  he  had  succeeded  beyond  all  expectation  or  hope. 
The  success  did  not  cause  elation,  he  accepted  such  goods 
cautiously  at  best,  and  now  there  was  no  one  else  to  care  ; 
his  mother  was  dead,  his  father,  in  spite  of  the  daily  rehearsal 
of  what  took  place,  did  not  really  know,  and  Desire  was  not. 
For  himself  it  mattered  nothing.  It  is  good  to  do  what  you 
do  as  well  as  you  can,  but  of  that  well  or  ill  you  alone 
are  judge,  outside  accidents  of  failure  or  success,  of  praise  or 
blame,  fame  or  money,  are  not  much.  Peter  did  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  for  the  rest  very  little  sufficed  him. 

And  of  Alexander,  to  whom  success  or  failure  meant  much, 
and  the  prosperity  or  reverse  of  the  firm  much  more  still,  he 
heard  nothing.  He  did  not  imagine  Alexander  had  forgotten 
or  grown  tired,  or  that  the  personal  encounter  of  the  winter 
had  done  other  than  point  his  previous  impersonal  enmity  to 
the  firm  with  an  additional  personal  enmity  to  himself. 
Alexander,  he  knew,  was  only  waiting,  or  else  making 
attempts  of  which  he  did  not  hear,  either  because  they  were 
not  successful  or,  more  likely,  because  he  himself  was  not 
clever  enough  to  discover  them  in  their  early  stages.  Once 
and  once  only  did  he  feel  Alexander's  hand,  in  late  July 
when  Paddy  died.  Peter  was  not  at  first  quite  sure  whether 
to  associate  the  dog's  furious  barking  at  some  real  or  fancier 
intruder  with  Alexander.  Three  days  later  he  knew,  for 
the  dog  died.  He  was  ill  twenty-four  hours,  but  it  did  not 

336 


DESIRE 

need  the  testimony  of  the  veterinary  surgeon  to  tell  that  it 
was  poison,  and  it  did  not  need  any  one  to  tell  Peter  that  it 
was  Alexander.  Whether  it  was  for  spite,  or  vengeance,  or 
to  further  his  own  ends  did  not  matter,  Peter  did  not  ask 
himself ;  the  thing  was  done,  that  was  all  that  mattered,  and 
the  one  living,  loving  thing  left  in  his  bare  life  was  taken 
from  him.  He  sat  with  the  dead  dog's  head  where  it  had 
fallen  on  his  knee,  and  his  heart  very  full  and  very  cold 
within  him.  For  the  first  time  Alexander  had  got  a  blow 
truly  home,  a  subsidiary  blow  possibly,  a  mere  necessary 
clearing  of  the  ground  to  him  perhaps,  but  one  that  touched 
to  the  quick.  The  insult  to  Desire,  which  had  roused  Peter 
to  blows,  had  been  avenged  by  blows,  punished  if  not  wiped 
out ;  the  attack  on  the  firm's  credit  and  on  their  commer- 
cial position,  though  dishonourable  according  to.  Peter's 
standard,  were  Alexander's  usual  methods  and  in  a  way 
impersonal.  But  this 

"  He  might  have  left  me  this  ! "  Peter  inly  cried,  pro- 
testing against  fate,  as  men  who  in  silence  take  the  big  things 
and  in  silence  choose  the  hard  part,  sometimes  do  protest 
when  some  one  thing,  small  to  others,  comes  upon  them. 
Though,  perhaps,  it  is  not  altogether  a  small  thing  when  the 
only  eyes  that  brighten  at  your  coming  are  closed,  the  only 
thing  that  runs  to  meet  you  is  still,  the  safe,  silent,  sym- 
pathetic, dumb  comrade  of  bad  times  and  good  is  gone,  and 
you  are  alone. 

Peter  took  the  dead  dog  up  the  narrow  hill  path.  It  was 
for  the  last  time,  and  he  found  the  once  active  body  very 
heavy  before  he  reached  the  spot  he  had  mentally  chosen,  a 
lonely  place  a  little  off"  the  path.  There  he  buried  him  one 
still,  grey  afternoon.  A  curious,  rather  a  childish  thing  to 
do,  perhaps,  but  all  that  he  had  loved  and  all  that  he  had 
suffered,  all  he  had  ever  cared  for  seemed  to  belong  up  there, 
22  337 


DESIRE 

and  it  seemed  natural  to  him  to  bury  the  dog  there.  After- 
wards he  came  down  again  alone.  Alone  on  the  hill  path 
for  the  first  time  since  he  had  come  home  two  years  ago  ; 
perhaps  really  alone  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  for  in  the 
far-off  time,  before  he  went  to  town,  he  had  carried  hopes 
and  ambitions  to  the  hills,  no  mean  company  when  a  man 
is  young.  But  now  he  was  alone  ;  alone  in  his  goings  out 
and  his  comings  in,  a  sober  man  leading  a  sober  life. 

Through  August  and  through  September  nothing  hap- 
pened, nothing  unusual  that  Peter  was  aware  of.  He  had 
had  the  locks  all  seen  to  the  day  after  Paddy  disturbed  them, 
and  Robert  had  installed  a  young  collie  as  watch-dog  before 
the  fox  terrier  was  cold.  Peter  said  he  did  not  think  it  was 
much  use  as,  no  doubt,  the  dog  would  also  die  if  it  were  in 
the  way.  But  Robert  would  have  it,  so  the  collie  lived  in 
the  yard,  recognizing  the  old  man  as  master,  and  showing 
an  amiable  toleration  of  Peter. 

Peter  met  him  in  the  yard  when  he  went  round  one  night 
in  late  September.  He  always  went  the  rounds  before  he 
went  to  bed  now,  making  sure  that  everything  was  secure 
and  all  the  doors  really  locked,  as  they  were  supposed  to  be 
when  work  was  done. 

He  met  Robert  as  he  came  into  the  house  again.  "  Is  it 
all  right  ?  "  the  old  man  asked. 

"  Yes,"  Peter  answered,  then  added,  "  Why  ? " 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  things,"  Robert  said. 

Peter,  who  knew  him  and  his  usual  outlook,  was  not 
disturbed.  "  What  things  ? "  he  asked  without  curiosity. 

"Bolt,"  Robert  answered.  "You  can  believe  me  or  not 
as  you  like,  but  it's  true,  James  saw  him  and  Alexander 
talking  together  three  days  ago." 

James,  like  many  virtuous  persons,  had  rather  a  faculty 
for  seeing  and  reporting  disquieting  things,  many  of  which 

338 


DESIRE 

came  to  nothing  ;  this  one  Peter  regarded  as  more  surprising 
than  dangerous. 

"  Is  that  so  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  shouldn't  think  that  would 
be  much  good  to  Alexander." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Robert  demanded.  "  Bolt's  a  fool  but 
Alexander  isn't.  I  don't  like  the  looks  of  it  when  a  knave 
gets  making  up  to  a  fool — there's  such  a  thing  as  cat's 
paw." 

"  Yes,"  Peter  allowed,  "  but  I  don't  think  Bolt  will  be 
applying  for  that  situation  to  Alexander." 

"  And  why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  Because  he  hates  him,"  Peter  said.  "  I  don't  know 
why,  but  he  does." 

"He  don't  like  him,"  Robert  allowed,  "same  as  a  good 
many  people  don't  ;  but  what's  that  ?  Nothing.  He  don't 
like  the  old  master,  nor  you,  nor  anybody  else.  He's  got 
his  own  game  to  play,  same  as  another." 

Peter  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Maybe,"  he  said,  though 
he  was  not  convinced.  "  Anyhow,  I  don't  think  we  need 
be  uneasy,  there's  no  harm  he  can  do."  With  that  he 
turned  to  fasten  the  back  door. 

"  Is  Mary  gone  to  bed  yet  ? "  he  asked. 

She  was  not,  she  was  still  with  her  master.  Since  Mrs. 
Grimstone's  death  she  had  practically  taken  over  care  of  the 
invalid  ;  a  young  girl,  a  relation  of  hers,  and  likely,  according 
to  custom,  to  be  affianced  to  James,  being  engaged  to  help 
her  in  the  household.  Peter  relieved  the  old  woman  at 
times  and  spent  most  of  his  spare  time  in  his  father's  room  ; 
much  of  the  novel  had  been  written  there,  the  stricken  man 
never  showing  any  consciousness  of  his  presence  or  occupation. 
He  went  up-stairs  now. 

"  Master's  restless  to-night,"  Mary  said,  as  he  entered  the 
room  ;  "  he's  not  himself." 

339 


DESIRE 

Peter  said  he  would  leave  the  door  between  the  rooms 
open  when  he  went  to  bed.  "  I'll  stop  awhile  now,  if  you 
think  it  better,"  he  added;  "I'm  not  sleepy." 

The  old  woman  made  a  show  of  hesitation,  then  acquiesced 
with  that  touch  of  condescension  a  nurse  always  has  for 
one  who  takes  her  place  and  Mary  had  always  had  for 
Peter.  "  You  can  call  me,  if  he  wants  anything,"  she  said, 
putting  some  finishing  touches  to  the  room  for  the  night. 

Peter  said  he  would,  wished  her  good-night,  and  then  sat 
down  near  the  bed  with  a  book. 

The  room,  a  large  one,  was  for  the  most  part  in  shadow, 
the  only  strong  light  was  within  the  circle  of  the  shaded 
lamp  ;  but  still  one  could  see  the  outline  of  the  inanimate 
figure.  It  was  not  quite  inanimate,  though,  to-night ;  the 
fingers  jerked  feebly  now  and  then,  and  there  was  an 
occasional  spasmodic  twitching  of  one  leg ;  it  was  this  which 
Mary  had  described  as  restlessness.  Peter  noted  it,  but  he 
had  seen  it  before,  though  he  could  not  tell  what  it  indicated 
or  if  it  indicated  anything  at  all. 

For  a  while  he  read  steadily,  only  now  and  then  glancing 
towards  the  bed  ;  but  after  a  time  he  lost  the  thread  of 
interest  in  what  he  read.  For  a  little  he  sat  looking 
at  the  still  figure,  seeing  it  and  all  it  meant  afresh  and 
vividly,  as  men  do  occasionally  re-see  that  to  which  they  are 
completely  used.  Ezra  Grimstone  had  lain  thus  for  eighteen 
months  now,  alive,  but  to  all  intents  and  purposes  dead ; 
a  strong  man  bound,  locked  in  impregnable  silence ;  a 
man  who  had  not  learnt  to  bend,  broken.  Peter  was  used 
to  the  sight ;  he  had  borne  his  part  in  Mrs.  Grimstone's 
pathetic  play  that  the  mind  was  not  gone,  and  the  man,  as 
man,  not  dead  j  he  had  helped  her  to  try  and  soften  the 
blow  to  the  thing  which  could  no  longer  feel.  But  to-night 
it  came  home  to  him  afresh  and  with  grim  tragicness.  Such 

340 


DESIRE 

a  fate  for  a  man  like  Ezra  Grimstone,  who  had  never  asked 
for  more  than  to  work  and  then  die ;  who  would  have 
scornfully  rejected  leisured  age  or  any  half-gift  of  modified 
life.  To  live  on  in  a  world  to  which  he  was  dead,  to  lie 
helpless  where  he  had  ruled,  to  know  nothing  where  every- 
thing had  been  in  his  control — it  was  awful !  But  far  more 
awful  still  if  he  did  know,  if  the  mind  lived  speechless  in  the 
dead  body,  and  to  living  death  was  added  the  consciousness 
of  death  !  God,  in  His  goodness,  forbid  it ! 

But  Peter  was  not  sure — not  unsure  of  the  goodness  of 
God  ;  far  down  in  the  quiet  places  of  his  mind  was  a 
certainty  of  that,  unshakable,  inexpressible,  a  part  of  himself. 
But  he  was  not  sure  whether  his  own  reading  of  "  goodness  " 
was  aright.  He  could  not  be  the  sort  of  writer  he  was 
without  being  aware  in  himself  that  the  creator's  scheme  of 
things  must  be  vastly  greater  than  the  creature's  view  of  it, 
and  that  it  is  idle  for  one  who  stands  in  the  fog-bound 
midst  to  judge  of  one  who  holds  the  beginnings  and  ends. 
So  he  was  not  sure  that  the  conscious  mind  was  absolutely 
gone,  and  once  again  that  night  he  leaned  forward  to  the 
familiar  face,  grim  still  in  overthrow,  seeking  the  sign  he  did 
not  wish  to  see.  But  there  was  no  change ;  the  eyes,  half 
hid  under  the  lowered  lids,  saw  nothing  and  told  nothing, 
lightened  only  when  the  lamp  flickered,  darkened  only  when 
an  unseen  shadow  swayed. 

Yet  Peter  did  not  feel  inclined  to  leave  him  that  night, 
but  sat  there  reading  awhile  longer — indeed,  until  he  dropped 
asleep  over  his  book.  It  was  an  uneasy  sleep,  conscious  of 
any  sound  and  troubled  by  dreams.  He  dreamt  he  saw  the 
sick  man  stir  and  move,  and  gradually,  very  slowly,  rise 
upright ;  he  was  long  doing  it,  and  Peter  himself  seemed  to 
have  no  part  in  the  affair,  he  merely  looked  on  as  from  a 
distance  as  his  father  slowly  assumed  his  old  position  and  his 

341 


DESIRE 

old  authority.  He  would  speak  soon,  Peter  knew  it  sub- 
consciously— he  opened  his  mouth.  Peter  was  not  in  the  least 
surprised,  he  only  wondered,  with  the  same  remote  curiosity, 
what  he  was  going  to  say.  For  a  second  no  words  came, 
the  voice  was  rusty  from  want  of  use,  then — Then  Peter 
woke. 

Instinctively  he  looked  towards  the  bed  ;  the  inanimate 
figure  lay  as  before,  the  silence  of  the  room  was  intense, 
unbroken,  except  when  the  wind  fingered  the  window  pane 
— and  yet  he  felt  there  was  something.  It  could  not  be  only 
the  influence  of  the  dream,  it  must  be  something  else — there 
was,  yes,  there  was  some  subtle,  almost  imperceptible, 
change.  He  rose  quickly  and  came  to  the  bedside — and  the 
half  closed  eyes  followed  him  ! 

It  was  no  trick  of  lamplight,  no  hallucination  surviving 
from  the  dream  ;  the  eyes  moved  and  saw,  living  eyes  in  the 
dead  face  that  lay  a  wax-like  mask  on  the  pillow. 

"  Father  !  "  Peter  said. 

There  was  no  speech  or  sign  in  reply,  only  the  eyes 
sought  his  with  a  burning  eagerness,  the  quick  imperiousness 
of  one  who  has  little  time  and  much  to  say,  the  impotent 
impatience  of  one  who  fears  his  chance  is  slipping  from 
him. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Peter  asked,  grasping  suddenly  that  what 
was  to  be  said  must  be  said  now,  and  what  done  done  now 
and  without  delay.  "  What  is  it  ?  Who  ?  My  Mother  ? 
Alexander  ? " 

The  pupils  of  the  dark  eyes  contracted  at  the  last  word, 
and  hatred,  strong  as  a  passion  of  strongest  mankind,  shot  up 
in  them.  The  answering  chord  was  touched,  they  said  so 
eloquently,  somewhat  awfully  too,  seeing  what  chord  it  was 
that  had  called  the  conscious  soul  back  from  the  shadow. 

"  Yes,  I  understand,"  Peter  said  ;  "  it  is  about  Alexander. 

342 


DESIRE 

Something  you  want  me  to  do  or  prevent  him  from  doing  ? 
Try  and  tell  me." 

He  bent  down,  his  shadow  spreading  black  and  large 
across  the  ceiling.  The  room  was  full  of  black  shadows  and 
of  a  grim  silence  that  mocked  at  the  speechless  man.  The 
muscles  of  the  throat  moved.  It  was  like  the  dream,  but  worse 
— for  now  in  the  reality  the  body  lay  still  and  dead,  only  the 
soul  lived  and  looked  out  fierce  and  staring  through  the  eyes. 
The  man  swallowed  as  if  he  were  getting  ready  to  speak, 
words  almost  visibly  came  to  the  surface — and  halted  in 
utter  silence.  It  was  as  if  the  rage  which  months  before  had 
smitten  him  down,  choked  him.  Peter  bent  lower,  he  felt 
that  by  listening  he  must  catch  some  whisper  from  the 
imprisoned  soul ;  but  there  was  no  sound,  only  the  rustle  of 
the  wind  without.  He  put  his  hands  on  the  numb  hands 
and  looked  deep  into  the  shadowy  eyes.  They  looked  back 
at  him  tragic  in  their  futile  eloquence,  fierce  with  passion, 
burning  with  some  warning  to  give,  some  fear  to  share. 
And  Peter  could  not  understand  and  they  knew  he  could 
not.  Under  his  gaze  the  passion  grew,  the  fierce  emotion 
welled  up,  till  the  sheer  indomitable  will  of  the  man 
triumphed  and  for  a  moment  mastered  mortality.  The  mask 
face  lifted  three  inches  from  the  pillow,  the  straining  throat 
moved  convulsively,  and  a  sound  came  from  the  dumb  lips — 
a  beast-like,  meaningless,  inarticulate  sound,  which  broke 
despairingly  and  sank  to  silence. 

Peter  bent  over  the  bed.     "  Father  !  "  he  said. 

But  there  was  no  response,  no  flicker  of  light  in  the  eyes, 
the  spirit  which  had  informed  them  was  gone  ;  only  the 
breath  came  feeble  and  fluttered,  telling  of  a  semblance  of 
life  that  lingered. 

The  doctor  who  attended  Ezra  Grimstone  always  regarded 

343 


DESIRE 

him  as  an  interesting  case.  He  had  given  it  as  his  opinion 
that  the  patient  might  die  in  convulsions,  or  he  might  have 
a  return  to  incomplete  consciousness  and  die  an  idiot,  or — 
more  likely — he  might  slip  quietly  away  with  no  change 
from  his  comatose  state.  That  there  should  be  even  a 
momentary  return  to  reason  was  the  one  thing  he  believed 
unlikely  ;  yet  that,  it  seemed,  was  what  happened.  The 
doctor  did  not  himself  see  it — he  wished  he  had — but  he  did 
not  doubt  Peter  Grimstone's  word,  nor  did  he  ascribe  the 
idea  to  fancy  on  his  part.  The  Grimstones  were  not,  in 
his  opinion,  people  to  fancy  things,  and  Peter's  bare  and 
circumstantial  account  was  good  enough  evidence  to  him. 

"  Temperament,"  was  his  judgment ;  "  possibly  it  had  as 
much  to  do  with  it  as  physique.  He  must  have  been  a 
tough  customer  when  he  was  set  on  anything,  not  often 
balked,  till  now.  By  Jove  !  A  bit  gruesome  to  die  with 
your  mouth  shut,  and  something  to  be  said  stuck  in  your 
throat ! " 

This  remark  was  made  to  Robert,  as  he  led  the  way 
down-stairs  in  the  chilly  dawn. 

It  was  nearly  five  then,  the  doctor  had  been  there  three 
hours,  useless  hours  so  far  as  he  or  another  could  do  any- 
thing, but  he  was  keen  on  his  profession,  and  he  would 
willingly  have  waited  another  three  hours  for  the  chance  of 
seeing  the  phenomenon  of  a  momentary  return  of  reason. 
He  had  not  seen  it,  there  had  been  no  return,  no  awakening, 
no  sign  of  pain  ;  the  mask  of  silence  which  Ezra  Grimstone 
had  often  chosen  to  wear  of  himself,  and  which  of  late 
Another  had  set  so  tightly  on  him,  fitted  close  down.  Self- 
contained  and  dumb  he  passed  out  of  the  world  in  the  chill 
of  the  dawn. 

Robert  let  the  doctor  out  without  answering  his  comment. 
In  his  way  he  had  cared  for  the  dead  master  ;  he  had  worked 

344 


DESIRE 

with  him  all  his  working  life,  withstood  him  at  times  it  is 
true,  abused  and  contradicted  him,  a  cross-grained  man  but  a 
loyal.  And  even  though  it  may  have  been  Grimstones'  that 
had  been  the  central  core  of  his  affections,  Ezra,  impotent 
and  set  aside  as  he  had  been,  still  in  the  old  man's  mind 
stood  largely  for  it.  So  he  said  nothing ;  rather,  he  resented 
the  doctor's  words  as  an  intrusion  ;  what  the  dead  man  had 
to  say  must  have  concerned  Grimstones'  and  was  no  affair  of 
a  stranger's ;  to  die  silent  were  better  than  to  die  talking 
before  such.  Robert  shut  the  heavy  door  after  the  doctor  as 
if  he  were  shutting  the  outside  world  from  the  silent  house. 

"  It's  Alexander  that  killed  him,"  he  said  to  Peter  as  they 
stood  together  on  the  landing. 

Peter  knew  better  ;  he  knew  that  big  things,  and  some 
little  things,  usually  derive  their  origin  from  wider  sources 
than  one  man  only,  and  seldom  from  sources  entirely  un- 
touched by  self.  He  did  not  say  so,  however. 

"  It  was  Alexander,"  Robert  repeated.  "  You  say  your- 
self it  was  Alexander  he  tried  to  tell  you  about." 

Peter  nodded.  "  He  had  been  restless  all  the  evening," 
he  said  ;  "  it  was  almost  as  if  he  had  something  on  his  mind, 
something  which  grew  till  at  last  the  effort  to  tell  it  brought 
the  end." 

Robert  grunted.  "  Well,  it  was  about  Alexander,"  he 
persisted.  "  A  warning.  It's  my  belief  he  knew  what  we 
don't,  and  saw  what  we  can't,  the  dying  do  when  the  Lord 
wills — it's  a  warning." 

He  went  away  strong  in  his  conviction,  and  Peter  crossed 
the  landing  and  went  down-stairs.  There  was  nothing  to 
be  done  now,  and  it  was  useless  to  go  to  bed.  It  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  go  out  into  the  yard  and  look  across 
the  canal  as  he  had  looked  in  the  spring  dawn  when  he  had 
waited  for  the  barge.  He  drew  the  bolts  of  the  back  door 

345 


DESIRE 

and  went  out.  The  wind  had  dropped,  and  the  small  rain 
which  had  fallen  earlier  had  ceased.  It  was  all  very  still  and 
grey  without.  The  yard  looked  curiously  deserted  in  the 
pale  light ;  it  should  have  been  deserted  at  that  hour, 
of  course  ;  no  one  should  have  been  there  except  the  collie. 
He  was  not  there,  it  is  true,  but  Peter  did  not  notice, 
he  had  forgotten  the  animal's  existence.  He  shivered  a  little 
as  he  stepped  out,  not  so  much  with  cold  as  with  the  sense 
of  the  loneliness  which  hangs  over  the  working-  or  the 
playing-places  of  men  in  the  dawn.  He  passed  the  first 
shed  and  the  heap  of  old  saggers  j  beyond  was  the  building 
where  the  machine  had  been  set  up,  the  door  looked  towards 
the  canal,  one  did  not  see  it  till  one  stood  on  the  canal  bank. 
Peter  did  not  see  it  till  he  was  down  there,  close  to  where 
the  white  mist  floated  ;  then  he  saw.  The  door  stood  open, 
a  dark  space  in  the  wall,  and  on  the  threshold,  darker  still, 
something  was  lying — so  quiet,  quiet  as  the  creeping  mist, 
so  still.  A  man  who  was  lying  face  downwards,  his  head 
within  the  building,  his  feet  on  the  threshold  without — one 
was  doubled  a  little  under  him,  one  in  a  pool  left  by  last 
night's  rain,  and  he  never  moved  it  though  it  was  wet,  the 
boot  soaked  through.  Peter  started  forward,  then  stopped 
and  stood  quite  still.  His  eye  travelled  slowly  over  the 
figure  from  the  feet  upward  to  the  head  which  was  within 
the  building.  The  man  was  Alexander. 


346 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  finding  of  Alexander  Grimstone's  body  in  one  of  the 
buildings  of  his  father's  yard  caused  a  sensation  in  Twycross. 
For  a  while  the  name  of  Grimstone  was  on  every  tongue, 
and  the  affairs  of  the  family,  usually  little  thought  or  spoken 
of,  were  freely  discussed.  Every  one  knew  that  there  was  a 
business  feud  between  the  Grimstones,  although  its  origin 
and  extent  were  alike  unknown,  every  one  also  knew  there 
was  a  family  feud  too  ;  at  least  there  had  been  between  the 
brothers,  though  the  women  of  the  family,  according  to 
Mrs.  Alexander  Grimstone,  and  as  represented  by  herself, 
were  ready  to  make  peace.  And  now  on  the  very  morning 
that  Ezra  Grimstone  died  his  son  Alexander  was  found  dead 
near  the  house,  and  found  by  Peter. 

Ezra  Grimstone's  death  would  have  called  for  little 
comment,  it  had  been  long  coming,  so  long  that  by  now  it 
could  make  little  difference  to  any  one  ;  its  interest  lay  in  its 
happening  when  Alexander,  the  still  unforgiven,  was  so  near, 
and  at  a  time  so  shortly  before  he  too  had  died  suddenly,  if 
not  violently,  on  the  spot  forbidden  him  by  the  father. 
Alexander's  death,  however,  was  the  real  interest.  How  had 
he  died  ?  Who  was  responsible  ?  Was  any  one  responsible  ? 
Was  Peter  implicated  ?  Was  it  accident  or  murder  ?  The 
last  word  was  repeated  more  than  once,  and  not  without 
some  natural  relish — to  the  great  indignation  of  Dodd  of 
Grimstones',  who  was  at  Twycross  at  the  time  of  the 
inquest. 

The  good  men  and   true,  who  very  willingly  served  as 

347 


DESIRE 

jury  on  the  occasion  of  the  inquest,  viewed  the  body  care- 
fully. They  had  not  liked  Alexander  in  life — it  was  not 
very  easy  to  find  any  one  who  had — but  they  were  very 
interested  in  him  in  death.  They  listened  to  the  medical 
evidence  with  attention,  examined  the  only  wound  to  be 
seen,  and  asked  questions  pertinent  and  otherwise. 

Some  points  about  the  death  were  perfectly  clear. 
Alexander  Grimstone  had  died  about  four  o'clock  on 
Wednesday  morning,  the  doctor  who  saw  the  body  not  two 
hours  later  gave  that  as  his  opinion,  and  there  was  no  reason 
against  it.  Death  had  been  caused  by  a  blow  on  the 
head  ;  the  doctor's  opinion  again  was  unimpeachable,  also 
common  observation  bore  it  out.  The  question  was,  was 
the  blow  accident  or  design  ?  Evidence  was  rather  in  favour 
of  accident.  There  was  a  pulley  with  weights  affixed  to  a 
beam  just  over  the  door  of  the  building  where  the  body  had 
been  found.  Some  part  of  the  tackle  had  become  loosened, 
and  one  of  the  weights,  which  Robert  deposed  to  having 
been  in  its  place  when  he  locked  the  shed  the  previous 
evening,  had  fallen,  striking  Alexander  on  the  head.  Could 
such  a  thing  have  happened  of  itself  ?  The  question  was 
put  by  the  foreman.  Was  it  not  necessary  for  some  one  to 
have  touched  it,  either  accidentally  or  not  understanding  the 
mechanism,  or  maliciously  and  on  purpose  to  endanger  one 
standing  as  Alexander  was  ? 

Robert's  answer  was  surly  and  non-committal  as  usual. 
It  might  have  happened  of  itself  or  it  might  not.  The  thing 
had  not  been  used  for  some  time,  he  could  not  say  what 
condition  it  was  in  or  how  far  it  was  secure.  As  for 
Alexander  touching  it  by  accident,  it  wasn't  likely  he  had 
been  such  a  fool,  he  mostly  knew  what  he  was  about.  As 
for  any  one  doing  it  maliciously,  they'd  have  had  to  stand 
close  to  him  to  do  it,  they  would  also  have  had  to  time  it 
very  exactly  ;  it  would  have  been  a  difficult  thing  to  do  with 

348 


DESIRE 

any  man,  very  difficult  with  one  as  sharp  as  Alexander,  who 
was  likely  to  have  been  additionally  on  the  alert  on  such  an 
occasion. 

After  that  information  every  one  looked  again  at  the 
weight,  the  presumed  cause  of  death.  It  was  still  dabbled 
with  blood  and  hair  as  it  had  been  when  found.  One  man, 
he  was  the  least  important  present,  asked  if  these  com- 
promising signs  could  not  have  been  put  there  after  death 
had  occurred. 

"  Supposing,"  said  he,  "  the  deed  had  been  done  with  some 
other  instrument — I  think  the  medical  evidence  supports  me 
in  saying  that  the  blow  might  have  been  struck  with  any 
blunt  and  heavy  thing  ?  Supposing,  I  say,  that  a  fatal  blow 
had  been  struck  from  behind  with  something  unknown, 
could  not  the  murderer  have  deliberately  disarranged  the 
pulley  and  stained  the  weight  as  we  now  see  it  ? " 

He  could,  of  course,  every  one  perceived  that ;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  no  one  thought  it  likely — partly  because  the 
ingenious  idea  had  not  originated  in  the  first  instance  with 
any  of  themselves,  and  partly  because  such  an  explanation 
presupposed  a  cold-blooded  callousness  in  the  perpetrator 
and  the  possession  of  a  brutal  enemy  by  the  dead  man. 
They  investigated  the  possibility  to  satisfy  the  unimportant 
man,  but  without  faith  and  without  much  result.  Medical 
evidence  did  not  help  ;  the  doctors  pronounced  it  quite 
impossible  to  say  if  the  blood  which  adhered  to  the  weight 
had  been  deposited  at  the  moment  of  death  or  immediately 
after  ;  but  they  evidently  inclined  to  the  former  and  simpler 
explanation.  So  did  most  other  people  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  they  felt  there  were  some  mysteries  here.  Had  an 
ordinary  workman,  or  other  person  with  business  to  be  on 
the  place,  been  found  under  such  circumstances  the  verdict 
would  have  been  quickly  given.  But  these  circumstances 
were  exceptional.  Alexander  Grimstone  had  no  business 

349 


DESIRE 

there  ;  he  was  in  an  unauthorized  place  at  an  unauthorized 
time,  presumably  for  an  unauthorized  purpose.  His  death 
by  accident  in  such  circumstances  was  extraordinary  ;  it 
partook  rather  of  the  nature  of  drastic  poetic  justice,  and  it 
seemed  necessary  to  inquire  into  several  things.  For  instance, 
was  it  possible  to  find  out  why  he  was  in  such  a  place  at 
such  a  time  ? 

It  was,  Peter  knew,  or  at  least  could  guess,  and  the  jury 
learnt. 

They  were  much  interested,  and,  being  all  more  or  less 
mixed  up  in  the  pottery  trade,  not  least  in  Peter's  acknow- 
ledged possession  of  a  secret  process.  This,  by  the  way,  he 
had  already  taken  steps  to  patent,  foreseeing  that  it  must 
become  known.  They  could  not,  however,  whatever  their 
wishes,  ask  him  much  about  it ;  they  asked  instead,  with 
some  severity — although  to  a  man  they  were  personally 
convinced  of  Alexander's  guilt — why  Peter  should  suspect 
his  brother  of  such  an  action. 

Peter  told  them  of  the  previous  entry  attempted  by  some 
one  and  frustrated  by  the  dog. 

They  asked  if  there  had  been  no  barking  this  time,  and 
why,  under  the  circumstances,  he  should  think  it  the  same 
person. 

Peter  said  that  the  dog  who  barked  before  had  been 
poisoned  two  days  after  that  attempt ;  and  the  collie  who 
watched  the  yard  now  had  been  destroyed  the  night  when 
Alexander  entered. 

The  jury  looked  wise  over  this  and  suggested  several 
theories  as  to  how  the  collie  died  ;  then,  brought  back  to 
the  point,  wanted  to  know  if  Peter  had  no  other  reason  for 
suspecting  his  brother. 

Peter,  with  a  reluctance  he  concealed,  told  of  Alexander's 
entrance  into  the  house  itself  last  year. 

The  jury  were  profoundly  interested  by  this  ;  they  were 

350 


DESIRE 

also  impressed  that  the  quarrel  between  the  Grimstone 
brothers  was  of  a  much  more  acute  order  than  they  had 
ever  known.  Acute  enough  for  almost  anything  to  have 
happened,  each  man  thought  it,  but  could  not  on  that 
account  implicate  Peter  in  the  present  business.  Possibly, 
fortunately  for  him,  his  doings  during  Tuesday  night  and 
Wednesday  morning  could  all  be  known,  every  hour  accounted 
for.  Owing  to  his  father's  death  he  was  up  all  night,  and 
not  alone  at  all  since  midnight  j  up  till  which  hour,  indeed 
after  it,  Alexander  was  known  to  have  been  alive.  Peter, 
it  was  clear,  could  have  had  no  hand  in  Alexander's  not 
inconvenient  death.  Had  any  one  else  ? 

There  were  footsteps  about  the  door  of  the  building  where 
the  body  was  found.  But  the  ground  was  soft  and  had 
been  for  several  days ;  there  would  be  prints  of  Alexander's 
feet  and  of  the  men  who  had  worked  there  during  the 
previous  day  as  well  as  the  prints  of  any  other  who  came 
after  Alexander — if  there  were  such  a  one ;  there  was 
nothing  to  be  learnt  from  the  prints.  There  was  one  other 
line  of  inquiry  and  one  other  puzzle  of  considerable  interest 
and  possible  importance — who  knew  that  Alexander  was 
in  that  place  at  that  time  ?  If  murdered  he  had  been,  his 
murderer  must  have  been  in  possession  of  that  piece  of  in- 
formation, he  would  not  himself  have  come  to  that  unlikely 
place  by  chance.  Alexander  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping 
his  affairs  very  much  to  himself;  so  far  as  it  was  possible  to 
learn  he  had  told  no  one  of  his  intention  that  Tuesday. 
His  movements  that  night  had  been  traced  up  to  the  time 
he  left  Twycross  Station  ;  from  then  on  no  one  seemed  to 
have  seen  him.  It  was  possible,  of  course,  that  he  was 
followed  from  there  to  his  father's  yard,  and  there  struck 
down  for  some  reason  unknown  ;  but  it  was  extremely  un- 
likely, if  for  no  other  reason  than  that  the  chances  were  very 
largely  in  favour  of  his  discovering  his  follower  before  that, 

351 


DESIRE 

Some  one,  however,  must  have  been  aware  that  he  was  likely 
to  go  to  the  yard ;  some  one,  at  all  events,  had  supplied  him 
with  the  key  of  the  building  where  he  met  his  death. 

But  all  inquiries  failed  to  reveal  who.  Robert  had  locked 
up  as  usual  that  evening,  he  swore  to  it,  and  the  keys,  on  a 
string,  had  been  put  just  inside  the  office.  Peter  had  put  them 
away  some  half-hour  later  ;  he  had  not  counted  them,  the 
particular  one  might  have  been  missing  then,  he  did  not 
know  ;  when  he  went  round  at  ten  that  night  he  did  not 
use  them,  the  doors  were  all  fastened,  he  had  no  occasion  to 
try  the  keys  or  to  examine  them  minutely. 

The  next  question  was,  who  had  been  in  the  office 
between  the  time  of  Robert's  placing  the  keys  there  and 
of  Peter's  putting  them  away  ? 

Possibly  any  or  all  of  the  few  people  connected  with  the 
work,  or  even  the  household.  The  door  leading  to  the 
house,  though  shut,  was  not  fastened,  and  the  door  opening 
on  to  the  yard  stood  open,  Peter  was  not  there  and  every  one 
was  about  for  a  little.  Robert  had  locked  up  in  a  peremptory 
manner  before  the  rest  were  quite  ready  to  go  ;  he  often 
did,  he  liked  his  own  way  in  this  as  in  other  matters,  and 
as  he  locked  up  when  he  thought  fit  he  frequently  had  to 
wait  to  fasten  the  yard  gate  after  the  others.  He  did  that 
evening,  busying  himself  clearing  up  by  the  canal,  out  of  sight 
of  the  office,  while  he  waited.  The  yard  key  ?  It  was  never 
put  with  the  rest,  but  hung  on  a  nail  in  the  kitchen,  as  it 
always  had  hung  the  last  fifty  years,  where  it  was  always 
likely  to  hang  so  long  as  Robert  lived.  In  point  of  time  and 
opportunity  any  one  of  five  people  might  have  taken  the  key 
which  somehow  reached  Alexander  that  night ;  the  line  of 
inquiry  now  pursued  was,  who  could  have  conveyed  it  to 
him  in  the  time  ?  Not  either  of  the  two  women  of  the 
household,  their  movements  could  all  be  accounted  for.  Nor 
Robert,  he  had  not  left  the  house  or  spoken  to  an  outsider 

352 


DESIRE 

till  he  went  after  midnight  to  fetch  the  doctor  to  his  old 
master.  Not  James,  he  went  directly  he  left  work  to 
Shurthorpe  with  Dodd,  who  had  been  at  Twycross  that  day. 
They  travelled  together  to  that  small  town  where  both  lived, 
and  then  each  went  his  separate  way ;  Dodd  spent  the 
evening  at  a  sing-song  ;  James  at  a  school  of  languages  : 
both  returned  to  their  homes  in  good  time.  And,  thanks  to 
the  railway,  neither  could  have  returned  late  to  Twycross 
even  had  they  wished,  except  by  road,  a  somewhat  difficult 
feat  as  James  did  not  bicycle  and  Dodd  had  strained  his 
knee  and  could  not. 

There  remained  only  Bolt,and  Bolt  had  spent  the  evening 
and  night  with  his  cousin,  the  hill  blacksmith.  He  had 
fallen  out  with  his  grandmother  that  morning,  and  so,  instead 
of  going  home  to  her  after  work,  he  went  to  the  forge  ; 
spent  the  evening  there,  and  slept  there  with  the  blacksmith 
who,  like  himself,  preferred  a  sack  among  the  warm  ashes  to 
any  bed  yet  made.  No,  he  had  not  sold  Alexander  the  key. 
Alexander,  it  is  true,  had  sounded  him  about  it  quite  lately, 
only  last  week.  He  had  likely  sounded  most  of  them  some 
time  ;  Bolt  didn't  know  about  the  others,  but  for  himself  he 
had  no  fancy  for  Alexander,  he  didn't  trust  him  and  he 
wasn't  for  having  any  truck  with  him.  Bolt's  testimony 
could  not  be  shaken  any  more  than  the  others'  could.  James 
and  Dodd  had  seen  him  start  up  the  hill  road  when  he  left 
work,  and  when  they  took  the  road  to  the  town.  His 
cousin,  the  blacksmith,  corroborated  his  statement  of  when 
he  arrived  at  the  forge,  and  how  he  spent  the  night  there. 

It  was  curious,  it  was  mysterious  even,  and  more  than 
probable,  though  it  could  not  be  brought  home,  that  some 
one  was  lying  about  the  key,  but  it  was  fairly  clear  that  no 
one  in  Grimstones'  could  actually  have  given  it  to  Alex- 
ander. And,  however  much  one  of  them  might  have  been 
morally  responsible  for  his  somehow  getting  it,  it  was  shown 

23  353 


DESIRE 

impossible  that  that  one,  or  any  other  of  them,  could  have 
been  near  the  place  at  the  time  of,  or  any  way  concerned  in 
the  death,  which,  after  all,  was  the  sole  business  of  the 
inquest.  The  coroner,  having  reminded  the  jury  of  this, 
and  also  that  they  were  expected  to  give  a  verdict  on  facts, 
not  fancies,  they,  after  a  little  deliberation,  gave  one  ot 
"Accidental  Death." 

Thus  the  inquest  ended,  and  in  time  those  concerned  came 
out.  They  came  in  twos  mostly,  some  stood  a  minute  to 
talk,  some,  not  important  people,  gave  details  to  those  who 
had  had  to  be  content  with  waiting  outside  during  the  pro- 
ceedings. The  four  men  belonging  to  Grimstones'  went  their 
ways  with  the  stolid,  impervious  sort  of  look  which  they 
always  seemed  to  have  for  the  outside  world.  An  old  lawyer, 
looking  after  them  with  some  admiration,  speculated  as  to 
which  among  them  had  done  the  hard  swearing  and  who 
had  handled  the  affair  of  the  key.  But,  he  recognized  it 
plainly,  that  was  not  a  thing  likely  ever  to  be  known. 

But  there  he  was  wrong,  some  one  did  eventually  know. 
But  that  some  one  was  not  a  lawyer  or  a  juryman  considering 
evidence,  but  a  woman  who  jumped  to  a  conclusion  by  the 
light  of  her  own  intuitions.  She  was  one,  however,  who 
had  the  advantage  of  understanding  something  about  the  hill 
people,  their  endurance  in  friendship  and  enmity,  the 
primitiveness  of  their  code  of  rights  and  wrongs,  and  of  their 
clan  feeling.  One  who  not  only  knew  Bolt,  but  who  had 
also  seen  the  taciturn  hill  blacksmith  and  judged  him  to  be  a 
man  to  be  relied  on  at  a  pinch.  Desire  Quebell,  when  all 
that  has  been  told  was  repeated  to  her,  guessed  the  perjurer. 
But  with  singular  reticence  for  her  she  kept  the  guess  to 
herself;  such  a  suspicion,  when  you  don't  want  a  prosecution, 
is  not  a  thing  to  be  lightly  shared.  And  Desire  guessed 
that  the  man  who  supplied  Alexander  Grimstone  with  the 
key  did  so  to  gratify  a  passion  older  than  love  of  money  ; 

354 


DESIRE 

and  that  probably  he  did  not,  evidence  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding, spend  the  whole  night  among  the  warm  ashes 
of  the  forge.  There  was  one  thing  and  one  only  that 
puzzled  her,  and  on  that  she  eventually  got  light,  for  she 
asked  Bolt  point-blank. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  to  him,  "  do  you  mind  telling  me, 
why  you  always  disliked  Mr.  Alexander  Grimstone  so 
much  ? " 

"  'Cause  *e  killed  my  rabbits,"  was  the  answer. 

«  Your  rabbits  ? " 

"  Yes,  long  ago,  'afore  'e  fell  out  with  t'ode  maister.  'E 
'ad  a  lurcher,  yaller  mongrel,  and  I  'ad  two  rabbits,  wild  uns, 
they  were,  but  I'd  made  'em  tame.  They  lived  down  by 
t'cut  ;  I'd  a  box  for  'em  but  they  come'd  in  an'  out  as  they 
liked  ;  they  knew  me,  they  did,  they  used  ter  run  inter  my 
coat.  I  took  'em  'ome  ter  bed  sometimes." 

"  And  he  killed  them  ? " 

"  Set  'is  dorg  at  'em  when  I  warn't  there.  One  was  dead 
when  I  corned,  t'other  t'  brute  was  maulin'.  I  took  it 
away,  but  I  'ad  ter  kill  it  myself.  He  laughed." 

The  dull  eyes  lighted  at  the  recollection,  and  Desire 
suddenly  perceived  that  Alexander  Grimstone,  who  had 
ruined  some  and  injured  many,  died  because  ten  years  ago 
he  had  let  his  dog  kill  two  rabbits.  But  she  perceived 
also  that  it  was  because  he  had  destroyed  the  one  thing  a 
dull  nature  had  managed  to  care  for,  and  in  the  place  of  the 
one  feeble,  gentle  emotion  had  put  a  sense  of  injustice  and 
impotent  anger  and  helpless  resentment.  Plants  nearly  in- 
digenous to  the  nature,  and  dangerous  things  in  a  slow, 
unforgiving  mind,  very  ignorant,  very  unimaginative,  without 
sense  of  proportion  or  capacity  for  remorse. 

But  this  was  not  till  some  time  later.  On  this  cold,  grey 
afternoon  in  late  September  no  one  knew  why  and  how 
Alexander  Grimstone  died — except,  of  course,  so  far  as  the 

355 


DESIRE 

coroner  and  jury  had  decided — and  no  one  would  seem  to 
have  greatly  cared,  except  as  a  matter  of  curiosity. 

Mrs.  Alexander  had  the  appearance  of  caring.  That  is 
to  say,  she  was  announced  to  be  "  prostrated  with  shock," 
and  unable  to  see  any  one,  except  a  female  cousin  and  the 
friend  at  whose  house  she  had  been  staying  when  the  news 
reached  her,  and  who  had  kindly  accompanied  her  home. 
These  two  and  the  husband  of  one  of  them  saw  Peter  when 
he  felt  compelled  by  duty  to  ask  for  his  brother's  widow, 
though  he  had  not  the  least  idea  what  he  should  have  said 
to  her  had  she  seen  him.  He  was  much  relieved  at  being 
refused,  and  listened  with  patient  courtesy  to  the  extravagant 
descriptions  of  woe  poured  upon  him.  He  believed  them, 
and  felt  very  sorry  for  Mrs.  Alexander,  which  was  quite 
unnecessary,  as,  the  shock  once  recovered  from,  she  would 
find  a  morbid  excitement  and  satisfaction  in  the  interest  of 
her  situation,  and  would  most  thoroughly  enjoy  the  import- 
ance and  consideration  which  she  would  deem  her  due. 
Her  supporters  at  the  River  House  were  appreciating  the 
situation  as  it  was.  They  were  keeping  each  other  up  very 
sympathetically ;  they  had  whiskies-and-sodas  and  champagne 
at  odd  times,  and  very  appetizing  bits  of  food  brought  to 
them  on  trays  in  odd  places.  There  was  a  general  feeling 
of  importance  and  "  anything  might  happen  "  in  the  darkened 
house,  a  good  deal  of  running  to  and  fro  to  "  the  poor  dear  " 
up-stairs,  and  a  good  deal  of  very  friendly  talk  with  the 
servants,  who,  thus  encouraged,  naturally  collected  any  scrap 
of  gossip  there  was.  Peter's  coming  was,  of  course,  what 
was  to  be  looked  for,  and  also  enjoyed.  The  women  gave 
him  gushing  details  of  "  poor  Flo's  "  condition  ;  the  cousin 
told  him  how  she  had  managed  to  persuade  her  to  eat  a  few 
oysters  and  the  wing  of  a  chicken.  The  friend  recounted 
how  she  had  given  way  when  she  had  received  the  carefully- 
worded  telegram,  how  she  herself  had  declared  there  was 

356 


DESIRE 

something  awful  behind,  she  had  a  premonition  here — some- 
where in  the  region  of  her  lungs.  The  man,  allowing  proper 
time  for  these  proper  things,  spoke  aside  to  Peter  of  its  being 
fortunate  that  the  widow  would  be  left  well  provided  for. 

"  We  have  to  consider  these  things,  we  men  of  business, 
and  it  makes  a  difference,  a  considerable  difference  ;  when 
she's  got  over  it  a  bit  it'll  make  a  difference  to  her. 
Luckily  they  only  took  this  house  by  the  year — seems  as  if 
they  felt  something  might  happen  to  make  them  flit.  She 
can  get  out  of  it  before  Christmas — she  never  liked  the  place 
— and  come  and  settle  down  somewhere  cheerful,  somewhere 
near  us  perhaps.  Em  thinks  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  her, 
don't  you,  Em  r  " 

Em,  the  more  voluble  of  the  two  ladies,  corroborated  and 
then  turned  to  Peter  with  questions.  There  were  a  lot  of 
things  Peter  could  tell  better  than  any  one  else — the  finding 
of  the  body,  the  details  of  the  inquest,  his  own  opinions  and 
suspicions  ;  of  course  he  would  want  to  talk  as  much  as  they 
to  hear.  The  two  women  were  expansively  sympathetic, 
the  man  opened  another  bottle  of  champagne,  all  three 
proposed  to  be  melancholily,  somewhat  ghoulishly,  convivial. 
But  Peter  did  not  drink  champagne  at  odd  times,  and  he 
was  not  by  nature  either  ghoulish  or  convivial,  and  certainly 
not  expansive.  His  present  company  had  the  effect  of 
entirely  freezing  him  ;  he  briefly  answered  their  questions 
without  satisfying  their  curiosity,  unconsciously  and  politely 
rebuffing  their  morbid  thirst  for  information,  thereby  earning 
a  very  unfavourable  opinion.  Then,  as  soon  as  he  could,  he 
took  his  leave  and  made  his  way  home  in  the  windy  twilight, 
feeling  intensely  lonely.  Extraordinarily  lonely,  seeing  that 
by  the  two  deaths  which  had  so  recently  occurred  he  had 
lost  little  beyond  a  burden  and  an  enemy.  But  when  one 
has  very  little  it  is  something  perhaps  to  lose  even  those  ; 
they  at  least  are  something  for  which  to  think,  if  not  to  live. 

357 


CHAPTER   XXIII 

THE  trains  which  go  to  Twycross  usually  wait  a  long 
time  at  Stoke ;  the  one  by  which  Desire  Quebell  was 
travelling  did.  She  did  not  look  out  of  window  or  bestow 
any  interest  on  her  fellow-travellers,  but  sat,  hands  folded, 
body  still,  with  the  unnatural  and  abnormal  patience  of  one 
whose  impatience  is  far  beyond  expression,  and  who, 
mentally,  is  burning  coals  for  the  furnace,  hurrying 
stragglers  for  the  guard,  almost  dragging  the  train  for  the 
laggard  engine.  Her  whole  self  was  concentrated  on  getting 
on,  her  very  limbs  ached  with  it  as  if  it  was  a  physical  thing. 
This  was  the  one  journey  of  her  life  when  she  had  no 
thought  or  interest  for  fellow-travellers  or  humours  of  the 
way,  no  thing  that  was  done,  no  face  she  passed,  made  any 
impression  upon  her.  She  saw  them,  she  saw  thousands  of 
things — small  things  which  she  would  normally  have  over- 
looked, not  merely  the  people  but  the  number  of  their 
buttons,  too ;  not  merely  the  advertisements  but  the  separate 
letters  that  composed  them,  her  nerves  were  preternaturally 
alive  and  her  mind  raced  like  a  clock  with  the  pendulum  off. 
But  nothing  made  an  impression  on  her  and  nothing  stayed  ; 
between  the  words  she  read,  between  any  two  impressions 
she  received,  came  the  recurrent  question  What  trouble  ? 
What  trouble  ?  Robert's  laconic  telegram  had  not  told.  It 
had  given  no  hint  of  what  had  happened  or  when  it  had 
happened,  it  had  not  even  summoned  her.  Not  that  that 
occurred  to  her,  to  read  and  to  go  were  all  one.  She  had 

358 


DESIRE 

travelled  as  fast  as  she  could  since  getting  it.  She  had 
caught  the  night  train  at  Vichy,  reached  Paris  in  the  early- 
morning,  crossed  by  the  day  boat,  and,  late  into  town  by 
reason  of  the  delayed  boat  train,  had  had  no  time  to  do  any- 
thing but  drive  straight  from  Charing  Cross  to  Euston  Station, 
and  now,  four-and-twenty  hours  after  receiving  the  telegram, 
she  was  at  Stoke — waiting  at  Stoke  !  Waiting  for  the  engine 
to  get  water,  or  the  engine  driver  to  get  dinner,  or  for 
leisurely  passengers  to  saunter  the  length  of  that  interminable 
platform  and  choose  some  carriage  where  they  saw  a 
friend  ! 

At  last  the  train  began  to  move  again.  Just  as  it  did  so 
she  glanced  out  of  window.  There  was  a  bookstall  close  by 
with  newspaper  placards  hanging  upon  it,  halfpenny  papers 
of  more  or  less  local  circulation,  with  names  little  known  in 
London.  She  scanned  the  sensational  headlines,  as  she  had 
scanned  the  advertisement  boards  and  everything  else  she 
passed,  with  the  rapidity  and  unimpressionability  of  dream 
consciousness.  Suddenly  one  word  broke  through  and 
reached  her  mind — "  Grimstone."  She  saw  and  understood 
the  whole  line — "THE  GRIMSTONE  TRAGEDY.  INQUEST 
TO-DAY" — and  the  next  line  of  the  next  paper — "THE 
TWYCROSS  MYSTERY.  Is  IT  MURDER  ?  " 

She  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  A  paper  !  "  she  called,  leaning  far  out  of  the  window 
and  sending  her  full  voice  sounding  down  the  platform,  with 
a  note  in  it  which  made  the  paper  boys  start. 

"A  shilling  for  one  of  those  !  "  she  waved  towards  the 
placards  and  leaned  still  further  out.  The  train  was  going 
fast  now  and  the  boys  had  some  way  to  run,  but  one  reached 
her  ;  she  flung  out  the  shilling  and  seized  the  flimsy  sheets. 
Then  she  sat  back  in  her  corner,  a  strange  sick  dizziness, 
unlike  anything  she  had  ever  felt  in  her  life  before,  possessed 

359 


DESIRE 

her.  For  a  moment  she  held  the  paper  unopened,  some 
vital  thing  in  her  dropped  before  the  shock,  as  springs  sink 
before  an  earthquake.  Then  she  pulled  herself  together 
and,  with  hands  clammy  and  cold  for  all  her  magnificent 
health,  opened  the  paper. 

Ah  !  here  it  was — "  THE  TWYCROSS  MYSTERY."  Her 
heart  thumped  heavily  once,  then  began  to  beat  very  fast  as 
she  read,  while  her  breath,  before  difficult,  came  in  quite 
audible  gasps. 

There  were  two  men  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  carriage  ; 
they  looked  at  her  curiously.  They  had  looked  curiously 
when  she  had  sprung  up  and  called  for  a  paper  in  a 
voice  they  had  before  heard  of  normal  proportions,  now 
of  such  vibrating  power.  They  looked  almost  anxiously 
now. 

She  lowered  the  paper  suddenly,  dropped  it  on  her  lap,  and 
her  hands  on  it,  then  she  leaned  back  with  a  long-drawn 
breath,  shaking  suddenly,  almost  as  if  she  had  the  ague. 

"  Excuse  me,"  the  elder  man  said,  "  but  I'm  afraid  you're 
not  well." 

She  started,  for  the  first  time  remembering  their  presence. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  said  ;  "  I'm  quite  well."  Her  voice  shook 
a  little  over  the  last  word,  but  she  did  not  trouble  to  explain, 
and  was  entirely  unembarrassed.  The  rest  of  the  world  slips 
down  and  goes  out  before  the  stress  of  the  great  emotions  : 
one  is  not  embarrassed  by  it,  one  is  oblivious.  With  Desire 
it  did  not  count,  it  was  nothing — not  there.  She  sat  quietly 
in  her  corner,  her  mind,  springing  back  with  sudden  rebound, 
now  more  swiftly  at  work  than  ever.  She  was  going  over 
a  list  of  names — well-known  names  they  were  of  the  most 
famous  lawyers  in  England.  Gore's  name  passed  among 
greater  ones,  but  was  dismissed,  not  because  of  his  one- 
time connection  with  herself,  but  because  he  was  not  big 

360 


DESIRE 

enough  to  conduct  the  defence — if  defence  there  had 
to  be. 

The  newspaper  did  not  suggest  that  Peter  Grimstone  had 
murdered  his  brother,  although,  as  the  placard  conveyed,  it 
inclined  towards  the  view  of  murder  by  some  one  as  so 
much  more  picturesque.  It  contained  comparatively  little 
real  information  beyond  a  rhume1  of  what  had  been  in  a 
previous  issue  or  issues,  and  the  information  that  the  inquest 
was  to  be  to-day,  the  day  of  publication.  Here,  evidently, 
the  news  was  old,  it  was  startling-  no  longer,  no  one  much 
spoke  of  it.  Clearly  Robert  had  not  thought  it  necessary 
to  telegraph  to  her  directly  after  the  happening — had  he 
forgotten,  been  busy,  or  preoccupied  ?  Or  was  it  that  he 
had  thought  there  was  no  call  upon  his  promise  then,  but 
something  had  since  arisen  to  demand  its  fulfilment  ?  Fear 
sprang  up  at  the  thought.  For  a  moment  there  had  been 
relief,  an  almost  ferocious  relief  when  it  was  revealed  who 
was  dead  in  the  "  Twycrou  Mystery"  which  of  the  Grim- 
stone's  had  suffered  in  the  "  tragedy"  But  now  fear  came 
back,  a  thousand  fierce  anxieties  crowding  in.  Supposing 

The  train  stopped  again  !  Oh,  Good  Lord  !  Was  it 
only  the  station  after  Stoke  ?  They  had  been,  it  seemed, 
several  hours  doing  that  piece — and  were  they  going  to 
stay  here  all  night  ?  They  were  taking  in  milk-cans,  milk 
enough  for  a  whole  province  !  Was  the  train  never  going 
on  ?  A  crazy  idea  of  somehow  bribing  the  officials  to  run 
right  through  to  Twycross,  without  regard  for  signals  or 
milk-cans  or  passengers  or  anything,  occurred  to  Desire. 
But  she  did  not  try  it,  she  had  not  given  way  to  any  of  the 
frantic  impulses  which  had  once  or  twice  possessed  her 
during  her  journey.  She  sat  still  with  an  enduring  patience 
which  made  her  very  feet  ache  while  the  train  waited,  while 
it  went  on  again,  out  into  the  dark  country,  while  it  stopped 


DESIRE 

at  some  other  grimy  station — it  was  scheduled  slow  beyond 
Stoke — how  unutterably,  indescribably,  unendurably  slow, 
no  onee  Ise  possibly  ever  knew. 

But  it  was  over  at  last ;  Twycross  was  reached.  Desire 
was  out  of  the  train,  out  of  the  station,  almost  before  another 
carriage  door  was  open.  They  would  know  here  about  the 
inquest,  they  would  tell  her  the  verdict  and  the  common 
talk  if  she  asked.  But  she  did  not,  she  could  not  have  stood 
it,  she  could  not  speak.  She  passed  the  ticket  collector,  who 
recognized  her,  without  a  word,  sprang  into  a  fly  and  told 
the  man  to  drive  as  hard  as  he  could — with  a  freedom  of 
language  which  was  entirely  unwomanly  and  an  immense 
relief.  The  road  was  indifferent,  the  vehicle  old,  the 
progress  really  not  very  great,  but  one  felt  it,  one  felt  as 
if  some  efforts  were  being  made.  A  small  gusty  breeze 
that  whirled  the  dead  leaves  in  eddies  was  blowing ;  Desire 
leaned  forward  and  felt  it  on  her  face,  and  that  cheated  her 
into  a  feeling  of  pace.  They  were  slowing  down  now,  the 
hill — she  would  have  liked  to  get  out  and  push  up  behind 
if  it  would  save  time,  only  it  would  not.  What  a  long 
hill ;  she  did  not  remember  it  was  so  long,  it  never  seemed 
so  long  when  she  used  to  walk  up  with  Mrs.  Grimstone. 
Ah,  there  were  the  elms  at  last,  dimly  seen  against  the  dark 
sky — the  top,  they  used  to  call  them.  They  weren't  quite, 
but  one  might  reckon  them  so.  The  level  high  road  at  last, 
and  the  hills  ! 

Desire's  pulses  suddenly  slowed  as  she  saw  the  dark 
shoulders  of  the  hills  rising  on  the  left  against  the  cloudy 
sky.  Almost  like  a  palpable  thing  the  quietness  and  the 
solitude  that  was  here  fell  upon  her — reposeful,  overwhelming, 
belittling  to  a  man  and  his  impatience.  She  grew  suddenly 
afraid,  not  with  the  sick,  inward  fear  of  what  she  would  find 
at  the  journey's  end,  but  with  a  childish  trembling  at  her 

362 


DESIRE 

boldness  in  coming.  Peter  had  not  bidden  her  come,  it  was 
not  he  who  had  telegraphed  to  her.  No  one  had  really  sent 
for  her,  no  one  knew  she  was  coming,  maybe  she  would  not 
be  wanted.  Out  here  in  the  silence,  under  the  shadow  of 
the  great  hills  that  were  always  the  same,  things  were 
different,  she  herself  was  different,  cooler,  less  sure,  less  im- 
petuous, much  smaller.  She  stopped  the  fly  a  little  before 
the  solitary  grey  house  was  reached. 

"  I  will  get  out  here,"  she  said,  and  even  the  driver  noticed 
the  curious  quietness  that  had  taken  the  place  of  her  former 
hot  impatience. 

She  paid  him  and  told  him  to  take  the  slender  luggage 
which  was  all  she  had  had  time  to  bring,  to  the  house. 
Then  she  herself  went  in  at  a  side  gate  which  was  standing 
just  ajar,  as  Robert  had  left  it  when  he  went  out  on  some 
errand  to  the  town.  She  found  her  way  into  the  yard  ;  the 
buildings  showed  dim  black  outlines  on  her  right,  a  mound 
of  clay  and  a  pile  of  waste  ghostly  white  near  at  hand.  She 
crossed  quietly,  picking  her  way  with  silent,  familiar  feet,  and 
from  choice  keeping  close  to  the  house  wall.  The  office 
window  looked  that  way.  It  was  lighted  and  unshuttered,  it 
cast  a  square  yellow  patch  on  the  ground  and  illuminated  a 
space  around  it  j  she  avoided  the  light,  but  when  she  was 
near  glanced  up  at  the  window.  Peter  was  there,  at  the 
desk  which  used  to  be  her  desk.  His  face  was  quite  clear  to 
her,  not  very  different  from  when  she  saw  it  first  or  saw  it 
last,  not  different  at  all — or  else  she  had  known  that  it  would 
be  thus — or  else  she  had  always  seen  it  every  day  and  all 
day  since  she  left,  and  so  knew. 

She  passed  quickly,  he  had  not  seen  her  in  the  darkness 
without,  and  came  to  the  door.  For  half  a  moment  she 
paused,  hesitancy,  to  which  she  was  a  stranger,  holding  her, 
then  without  knocking  she  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 


DESIRE 

To  the  threshold,  no  further  ;  her  self-reliance,  her  decision, 
everything  deserted  her  then ;  she  stood  in  the  doorway  shy, 
shrinking,  just  a  woman  who  had  loved  and  who  had  come 
unbidden. 

Peter  turned  for  a  second,  his  face  went  white  as  a  man 
who  sees  a  ghost. 

"  Desire  !  " 

She  put  a  hand  on  the  door-frame,  a  deprecating  hand, 
and  she  smiled  rather  feebly. 

And  then  the  end  came,  suddenly,  overwhelmingly,  with- 
out words  ;  a  swift  step  that  was  almost  a  pounce,  a  crushing 
grip  that  nearly  hurt,  a  sense  of  yielding  that  was  divine  ;  a 
pressure  that  halted  the  breath  in  her  body,  and  a  kiss  that 
was  a  wordless  contract  which  never  could  be  broken. 

Mary,  the  taciturn,  having  set  the  supper,  left  it  for  ten 
minutes.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  finding  Peter  had  not 
come,  she  went  to  fetch  him — she  did  not  approve  of  un- 
punctuality  nor  yet  of  letting  food  get  cold.  She  gave  a 
perfunctory  knock  on  the  office  door,  opening  it  at  the  same 
time. 

"  Supper's  ready,"  she  said. 

She  looked  in  as  she  spoke,  and  so  saw  Desire. 

"  Why  ! "  she  exclaimed,  with  something  near  welcome 
in  her  voice.  "  You  here,  miss !  I  didn't  know  you'd 
come,  I  didn't  hear  you  ! " 

"I  came  by  the  back  way,"  Desire  explained.  "I  left 
my  luggage  to  come  by  the  front ;  by  the  way,  I  suppose  it 
has  come  ? " 

"Jane  must  have  took  it  in,"  Mary  said  ;  "  the  little  hussy 
don't  half  the  time  tell  me  what  she  does." 

"  That's  all  right,"  Desire  said  ;  "  that'll  be  all  right." 

She  turned  to  Peter.  "  Let's  go  to  supper,"  she  said 

364 


DESIRE 

hastily,  as  if  to  prevent  further  parley  with  Mary  ;  "  it  will 
be  getting  cold." 

Her  eyes  were  bright  and  eager,  but  with  fear.  She  had 
for  a  moment  forgotten  the  grim  shadow  that  was  over  the 
house  ;  for  that  one  brief,  perfect  moment  she  had  forgotten 
everything.  But  now,  with  the  coming  of  Mary  there  had 
also  come  remembrance  ;  with  the  jerk  of  reaction  all  the 
fears  which  had  possessed  her  before,  and  others  born  of 
more  recent  emotions,  swept  down  on  her. 

"  Peter,"  she  said,  as  he  followed  her  to  the  other  room, 
"  tell  me  about  it,  I  can  stand  no  more." 

But  Peter  hardly  understood  what  it  was  she  asked. 

"  Did  you ,"  she  said  desperately.  "  How  did  Alex- 
ander die  ? " 

« I  don't  know." 

"  You  don't  know  ? "  She  looked  at  him  for  half  a 
moment.  "  You  don't  ?  " — then  suddenly  and  without  any 
warning  she  burst  into  tears. 

Desire  was  not  given  to  displays  of  this  sort,  such  a  thing 
had  never  occurred  in  her  life  before  ;  but  then  other  things 
which  had  never  occurred  in  her  life  before  had  done  so  that 
day.  She  wept  as  only  physically  strong  women  whose 
emotions  have  suddenly  got  beyond  control  can  weep,  the 
weeping  as  primitive  and  complete  in  its  abandonment  as  the 
kiss  had  been,  a  breaking  up  of  the  unsuspected  deeps  of  her 
nature,  a  very  tornado  of  tears,  beyond  control  and  beyond 
embarrassment. 

And  Peter  wisely  did  not  try  to  help  or  hinder  her, 
perhaps  he  knew  that  the  unprecedented  upheaval  was 
physical  more  than  mental.  At  all  events  he  left  her  to 
herself  for  a  time,  attempting  neither  soothing  nor  sympathy 
until  the  first  passion  had  spent  itself  and  she  was  recovering 
a  little  of  her  lost  self-mastery. 


DESIRE 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  gasped  unsteadily  at  last.  "  I've 
never  made  such  a  fool  of  myself  before  :  I  didn't  know  I 
could.  I  ought  to  have  fled  out  of  the  room  when  I  felt  it 
coming  on  ;  I  might  have  spared  you  this  spectacle." 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  is  I  who  might  have  spared  you," 
Peter  said  remorsefully.  "I  didn't  know  it  mattered  so  much 
to  you." 

"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  matter  to  you  if  I  were  hung  ? " 
she  returned,  laughter  hysterically  catching  up  her  tears. 
"  Oh,  lend  me  your  handkerchief ;  mine  wants  wringing 
out,  and  I've  cried  the  dust  of  travel  off  my  face  in 
patches." 

"  Peter," — she  looked  up  suddenly  as  she  dried  her  eyes 
— "  are  you  hurt  at  my  not  being  sure  you  had  no  hand  in 
this  ?  You're  not  ?  Some  men  would  have  been,  I  suppose. 
Of  course  I  didn't  think  you'd  deliberately  murdered 
Alexander,  but  accidents  do  happen,  you  know  ;  one  might 
have  happened  that  night  in  the  winter  when  you  thrashed 
him.  I  didn't  know  in  the  least  what  had  taken  place,  I 
only  knew  the  long  quarrel  and  the  provocation  you'd  had, 
and  just  what  the  newspapers  said,  which,  of  course,  is  mostly 
nonsense.  You  see  how  it  came  about  ? " 

Peter  did.  "  What  would  you  have  done  if  I  had  had  a 
hand  in  it  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Got  you  off,"  she  answered  promptly.  "  I  thought  of 
it  all  the  way  from  Stoke.  I  knew  nothing  about  it  till 
then.  I  decided  Lawton  was  the  man  you  would  want ;  he 
is,  too,  supposing  anything  were  to  turn  up,  anything  horrible 
was  said.  But,  of  course,  it  won't  be  now  ;  they've  had  the 
inquest  ?  And  the  verdict  ?  I  haven't  heard  it,  you  must 
remember." 

"  Accidental  death." 

She  repeated  the  words  after  him,  "  Accidental  death  "  j 

366 


DESIRE 

then  she  nodded,  but  her  lips  twitched  and  her  hands  shook. 
Her  relief  was  immense,  but  with  it  there  came  an  exhaus- 
tion, sudden  and  temporary,  but  almost  as  great  while  it 
lasted  as  the  strained  emotion  had  been. 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  about  everything — some  other  time," 
she  said  weakly.  "  Give  me  something  to  drink.  I  feel  as 
if  I  should  spread  out  flat.  I  didn't  sleep  much  last  night, 
and  it  was  a  vile  crossing." 

Peter  brought  her  some  brandy  ;  then  he  put  the  some- 
what cooled  food  down  to  the  fire  to  get  hot  again.  It  did 
not  seem  to  him  advisable  to  ring  for  Mary  to  take  it  out  and 
reheat  it.  When  he  had  done  that  he  wheeled  the  sofa 
to  the  fire,  and,  without  warning,  carried  Desire  to  it. 
She  was  a  big  woman  and  a  heavy,  but  he  lifted  her 
easily. 

"  How  strong  you  are  !  "  she  said.  "  I  believe  you  could 
hurt  me  if  you  tried.  You  did  nearly  hurt  me  ;  you  crushed 

all  the  breath  out  of  me  when  you — in  the  office " 

The  sentence  was  not  very  explicit  but  Peter  no  doubt 
understood,  for  he  asked,  "  Did  you  think  I  might  have  had 
a  hand  in  Alexander's  death,  then  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  think,"  she  returned  ;  "  I  didn't  think  about 
anything.  Besides,  what  did  it  matter  ? " 
"  It  would  not  have  mattered  to  you  r  " 
"  Of  course  not."  She  leaned  against  the  cushion  he 
placed  for  her,  her  vitality  coming  back.  "  You  are  you, 
whatever  you  do,"  she  said.  "  It's  what  you  are,  not  what 
you  do,  that  matters ;  lots  of  doing  is  just  accident  and 
impulse,  and,  anyhow,  I  don't  care,  do  you  ?  You  can't  care 
for  what  I  do,  you  must  care  in  spite  of  it;  I  do  such 
abominable  things,  things  I'm  heartily  ashamed  of.  You 
do  uninspired  things,  too,' sometimes.  You  sent  me  away 
last  February.  Why  did  you  do  it  r " 

367 


DESIRE 

"  Because  I  thought  you  ought  to  go.  I  wanted  you  to — I 
mean,  I  thought  you  ought  to  go  back  to  your  proper  place 
— the  reasonable  part  of  me  thinks  it  still." 

"  The  artificial  part  of  you,"  Desire  said,  "  the  ridiculous, 
unnatural,  conceited  part." 

Later,  when  the  food  was  hot  and  Peter  had  brought  hers 
to  the  sofa  and  persuaded  her  to  eat,  she  returned  to  the 
subject.  "  Do  you  know  what  I  think  of  that  sending 
away  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  think  it  was  the  one  untrue  thing  I 
have  known  you  do.  It  was  untrue  if  you — if  you  cared, 
you  had  no  business  to  do  it ;  it  was  divorce  of  soul,  a  wilful 
stinting  and  stunting  of  your  life  and  mine  for  a  conven- 
tional idea.  It  is  a  conventional  idea  purely  that  money  to 
spend  and  nothing  to  do  in  the  company  of  others  similarly 
situated  must  necessarily  be  the  best  thing  on  earth,  and 
the  goal  and  hope  of  every  one  who  has  had  it,  and  a  good 
many  who  have  not." 

But  Peter  only  smiled,  recognizing  recovered  energy  in 
her  tone.  Then  the  smile  went.  "  The  alternative  here 
was  not  much,"  he  said  gravely  ;  "  it  is  not  much,  a  poor 
life,  narrow  and  small — and  you  are  used  to  and  fit  for 
something  better." 

"  You  might,  before  dismissing  me,  have  passed  the 
compliment  of  asking  my  opinion,"  Desire  observed. 

"That  was  impossible,"  he  said;  "besides,  if  you  had 
thought,  most  likely  you  would  have  seen  it,  too  ;  it  is  only 
by  not  thinking  that  anything  else  could  come  about.  We 
didn't  think  just  now — I  mean,  I  did  not ;  I  forgot  everything 
but — you." 

Desire  laughed  softly.  "  For  once,"  she  said,  "  no,  for 
the  second — third  time — you  acted  on  impulse.  Peter, 
have  you  ever  noticed  that  when  you  act  so  you  always 
win  ?  " 

368 


DESIRE 

"  Yes,  I  have  noticed,"  he  answered  ;  and  her  laughing 
eyes  dropped  shyly  before  his  gaze. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "I  used  to  want 
a  man  to  care  with  his  mind  only  for  my  mind  only ;  at 
one  time  I  thought  you  did." 

"  I  care  for  the  whole  of  you  with  the  whole  of  me — mind, 
body  and  soul,  and  it  always  will  be  so  whatever  you  do  or 
I  do,  in  all  circumstances  and  at  all  times,  till  life  ends." 

She  put  a  hand  on  his.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said  softly, 
and  after  that  they  sat  silent  for  some  time. 

By  and  by  Mary  came  to  clear  the  supper  things,  or 
rather  she  brought  Jane  to  do  that ;  she  came  herself  to  look 
after  Desire,  she  considered  Peter  quite  incapable  of  doing  so. 

"  You'll  be  just  tired  out  and  wanting  to  go  to  bed,"  she 
said. 

"  I'm  just  longing  to  wash  my  face,"  Desire  announced  ; 
"you  pottery  people  use  the  smokiest  coal  in  the  United 
Kingdom  on  your  trains ;  one  can't  put  one's  nose  out  of 
window  without  getting  a  smut  on  it." 

She  went  up-stairs  with  the  old  woman,  to  the  room  which 
used  to  be  hers.  But  she  did  not  go  to  bed,  she  had  no 
intention  of  doing  so  for  several  hours.  She  unpacked  what 
baggage  she  had  ;  Mary,  totally  unused  to  such  offices, 
assisting  and  talking  the  while — also  a  thing  to  which  she 
was  not  usually  given.  But  then  Desire  had  found  some 
way  of  thawing  her  ;  the  old  woman  liked  her  and  looked 
upon  her  as  in  a  way  part  of  the  family  and,  since  a  woman, 
a  member  of  the  superior  sex,  and  a  capable  one,  in  spite  of 
some  eccentricities.  She  answered  all  Desire's  questions, 
gave  her  quite  a  lot  of  information,  and  altogether  conversed 
so  garrulously  that  when  Desire  went  down-stairs  again  she 
knew  a  good  deal  about  what  had  occurred. 

Before  she  went  down  she  glanced  in  the  glass  and  was 
24  369 


DESIRE 

not  pleased  with  her  own  appearance  ;  her  face  was  pale  and 
there  were  dark  circles,  caused  by  her  recent  uncontrolled 
weeping,  around  her  eyes,  her  brilliancy  was  considerable 
dimmed. 

"You  do  look  tired,  miss,"  Mary  said,  observing  her. 
"  You  want  a  good  night's  rest." 

"  I  want  a  little  rouge,"  Desire  corrected  gaily.  "  You 
haven't  got  that,  I  suppose  ?  I  thought  not.  Well,  I  don't 
expect  Peter  will  mind  how  I  look." 

Mary,  scandalized  at  the  idea  of  rouge,  was  yet  more  sur- 
prised at  the  reference  to  Peter ;  clearly  it  was  absurd  to  her 
that  any  one  should  imagine  Peter  had  an  opinion  with  regard 
to  appearance,  or  that  it  mattered  if  he  had. 

And  Desire  laughed  happily  ;  she  knew  that  it  was  nothing 
to  Peter  how  she  looked  ;  it  never  had  been,  and  never 
would  be  ;  he  saw  her  through  all  her  moods  and  variations, 
the  becoming  and  unbecoming,  the  alluring  and  repellent 
were  alike  to  him — nothing.  He  had  seen  to  the  core  of 
her,  and  it  was  that  he  had  taken  and  held. 

Down-stairs  Peter  was  waiting  for  her,  he  evidently  did  not 
expect  her  to  go  to  bed  yet  awhile.  He  had  drawn  the 
chairs  to  the  fire  just  as  they  had  been  drawn  that  February 
evening  when  she  had  realized  that  she  could  not  stay,  and 
that  the  thing  as  it  had  been  was  at  an  end.  She  remem- 
bered it  now  as  she  sat  down,  but  was  too  shy  to  refer  to  it. 
She  only  said,  with  a  little  contented  sigh,  "  It's  good  to  be 
back." 

She  felt  for  her  cigarette-case.  "  Let  us  now,"  she  said, 
"  smoke  the  smoke  of  peace  j  I  haven't  smoked  all  day, 
merely  wasted  tobacco.  When  I'm  worried  I  smoke,  also 
when  I'm  not,  and  when  I  have  things  on  my  mind  or 
nerves  ;  but  to-day — there's  no  word  for  to-day.  It's  a  poor 
language,  ours  !  " 

370 


DESIRE 

"  It's  a  poor  fool  that  caused  you  all  this,"  Peter  remarked. 

But  Desire  only  looked  across  at  him  and  smiled.  "Give 
me  a  match,"  she  said,  "  and  let's  talk  sober  business." 

And  they  talked  it  and  talked  till  far  on  into  the  night ; 
and  mostly  it  was  business,  for  there  was  a  good  deal  to  tell 
and  to  explain  ;  and  mostly  it  was  sober  enough,  for  shadows 
still  hung  about  the  firm  of  Grimstone,  although  with 
Desire's  return,  as  with  her  first  coming,  they  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  lightened.  It  was  not  till  after  midnight 
that  Desire  allowed  her  own  past  concerns  to  come  in  for 
mention,  then  she  said  cheerfully — 

"To-morrow  I  must  write  to  cousin  Phoebe,  and  tell  her 
that,  according  to  custom,  I  have  'slippit  awa'.'  She  doesn't 
know  where  I'm  gone,  or  why.  I  just  wired  her  from  Paris, 
but  I  had  no  special  information  to  give  then,  so  I  didn't 
give  it.  She  won't  be  pleased  when  she  hears ;  she  will,  I 
am  persuaded,  at  once  destroy  her  will  and  make  another, 
cutting  me  off  without  the  traditional  shilling.  Do  you 
mind?" 

"  I  should  mind  very  much  if  you  had  money,"  Peter  said 
emphatically ;  "  at  least,"  he  corrected  himself,  remembering 
her  early  surroundings,  "  it's  hard  on  you." 

Desire  laughed.  "I  have  never  been  so  happy  in  my  life, 
as  the  six  months  I  hadn't  money.  I  shan't  want  any  for 
a  long  time.  I  have  most  of  my  jewelry  and  stacks  more 
clothes,  enough  to  last  me  for  years  ;  and  for  the  rest — 
you  know  how  economical  I  can  be." 

There  was  another  letter  Desire  would  have  to  write  to- 
morrow— to  Julian  Lee,  to  apologize  for  misleading  him,  if 
she  had  misled  him,  and  to  tell  him  briefly  that  she  was  going 
to  marry  Peter.  It  should  have  been  difficult  to  write,  but 
it  did  not  strike  her  that  way  ;  everything  to  her  was  quite 
simple  and  plain  now,  set  in  place  by  the  one  master  emotion 

371 


DESIRE 

and  master 'happening  of  her  life ;  all  else  naturally  fell  into 
place  beside  that  as  inevitably  as  day  following  night. 

She  told  Peter  about  Lee.  "  You  know,"  she  said,  "  I 
had  no  business  to  abuse  you  for  doing  an  untrue  thing  in 
sending  me  away,  seeing  that  I  was  more  than  half  thinking 
about  doing  a  thing  quite  as  untrue,  more  so,  in  fact.  I 
guess  I  should  have  done  it,  too  ;  it  is  quite  likely  I  should 
have  married  him.  Made  him  quite  a  tolerable  wife  maybe 
— he'd  have  given  me  no  end  of  rope — and  enjoyed  life 
fairly  well  on  the  whole.  It  seems  odd,  doesn't  it  ?  I 
should  have  enjoyed  the  small  things,  not  knowing — not 
knowing  the  big."  Her  voice  grew  soft  over  the  last 
words. 

"  And  you  " — she  looked  across  at  Peter.  "  I  suppose  if  I 
had  done  it  you  wouldn't  have  broken  your  heart ;  you'd 
have  felt  you'd  done  your  duty  in  sending  me  away,  that  I 
had  really  gone  back  to  my  place,  and  you  would  have  settled 
down  in  yours  moderately  content.  It  strikes  me  we  are 
not  heroic,  for  the  heroic,  missing  Paradise,  put  up  perman- 
ently in  Hell — and  we  should  have  missed  Paradise.  What 
Paradise  !  Oh,  Peter,  if  we  missed  it  now  it  would  be 
Hell  !  " 

"  We  can't,"  Peter  said  ;  "  no  matter  what  happens  now 
we  shan't  have  missed  it.  That  reminds  me,  when  will  you 
marry  me  ? " 

The  question  was  put  simply,  it  was  the  only  thing  ap- 
proaching a  proposal  that  Peter  ever  made  ;  but  Desire  did 
not  notice  that ;  according  to  her  somewhat  unusual  standards 
they  were  more  than  half  married  already. 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  thoughtfully;  "when  do  you 
think  ? " 

"  I  suppose  it  had  better  not  be  till  after  the  funeral," 
Peter  said  ;  "  it  hardly  seems  respectful  to  my  father." 

372 


DESIRE 

"  No,"  she  agreed  ;  "  no,  I  think  not,  we'll  wait  till 
after." 

"  I  wonder  if  you  ought  to  stay  here  ? "  Peter  said 
tentatively,  as  the  idea  suddenly  occurred  to  him. 

"  Of  course.  I'm  not  going  to  begin  bothering  about  that 
sort  of  thing  at  my  time  of  life." 

And  they  did  not  bother. 

Of  course  there  were  those  who  said  a  marriage  between 
Desire  and  Peter  would  not  and  could  not  answer,  but  that 
did  not  in  the  least  prevent  it  from  doing  so.  Neither  of 
them  had  any  one  with  a  title  to  be  concerned  in  their 
doings — which,  however,  never  prevents  some  disinterested 
people  from  having  and  giving  an  opinion.  Mrs.  Alexander 
Grimstone  was  very  emphatic  in  disapproval ;  she  also 
decided  that  Desire  was  an  improper  person  and  not  to  be 
recognized  ;  which  was  something  of  a  relief,  as  Desire  might 
otherwise  have  felt  it  her  duty  to  try  and  be  civil  to  the 
widow  for  the  short  time  she  remained  in  the  neighbourhood. 
Of  the  rest  of  Twycross,  neither  Desire  nor  Peter  had  ever 
known  much  of  the  good  folk  there,  and  the  opinion  held 
among  them,  if  one  was  held,  never  reached  them.  In  the 
course  of  time  Desire  made  some  friends  in  the  little  town, 
in  very  various  ranks  of  life — as  she  made  some  friends 
among  the  hill  people,  the  hooligans  of  the  pottery  towns 
and  in  the  great  houses  that  scattered  the  county.  And  it 
must  be  confessed  she  made  the  top  and  bottom  sort  first, 
and  the  middle  a  long  way  last.  From  which  it  will  be  seen 
she  remained  always  herself,  flashing  meteor-like  on  social 
horizons,  accepted,  in  spite  of  every  sane  and  sound  reason 
to  the  contrary,  wherever  and  whenever  she  chose,  herself 
supremely  unaware  alike  of  success  or  singularity.  But  she 
did  not  choose  very  often,  never  unless  Peter  did,  for  her  life 

373 


DESIRE 

was  his,  all  else  was  accident,  by-product.  All  their  real 
life  was  in  the  grey  house  by  the  hills,  in  the  work  they 
chose  for  themselves  and  the  children  that  were  born  to 
them. 

Desire's  people,  those  to  whom  she  used  to  belong, 
naturally  did  not  approve  of  her  marriage.  Lee,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  was  not  so  angry  as  he  ought  to  have  been  at  her 
treatment  of  him  ;  he  was  bitterly  disappointed  but  at  the 
same  time  not  entirely  surprised.  He  knew  all  along,  what- 
ever she  promised,  he  was  not  sure  of  her  until  the  ring  was 
fairly  on.  So,  with  a  generosity  she  admired,  he  forgave 
her — men  did  forgive  Desire  a  good  deal — and  was  friends 
still,  to  the  great  scandal  of  Lady  Quebell  and  the  entire 
satisfaction  of  Peter,  who  could  as  soon  have  been  jealous  of 
himself  as  Desire.  Miss  Quebell,  as  Desire  foresaw,  did  not 
forgive  her  but  left  her  money,  and  even  the  pearls,  which 
Desire  returned,  elsewhere. 

They  had  not  much  money,  these  two  ;  Desire  practically 
none,  Peter,  though  his  father's  heir,  not  much.  There 
were  his  books,  it  is  true,  but  they  never  sold  largely  ;  they 
brought  in  all  told,  perhaps,  an  average  of  ^70  a  year. 
They  gradually  grew  in  number,  though  there  were  never 
very  many  of  them,  for  they  were  produced  so  slowly, 
thought  over  and  talked  over  and  lived  in,  the  work  of  scanty 
but  loving  leisure.  Eventually  they  achieved  some  fame, 
in  a  way  a  curiously  wide  one,  among  rather  a  wide  circle  of 
people,  but  chiefly  among  those  who  do  not  talk  much  of 
what  they  read,  especially  when  they  feel  it  as  the  grip  of  a 
friend's  hand  in  a  dark  place.  It  was  not  literature  or  legacy 
which  supplied  Desire  and  Peter  with  their  small  income, 
when  it  was  small,  or  their  growing  one  when  it  grew — 
it  was  Grimstones'.  The  work  they  did  together,  the 
improvements  Peter  made  and  the  inventions  he  patented, 

374 


DESIRE 

gradually  did  build  them  up  a  good  sufficiency.  In  the  end 
they  were  almost  comfortably  off  as  Desire's  people  count 
wealth,  quite  rich  as  the  potters  count  it. 

But  what  did  it  matter  ?  Not  much  to  them  either  way. 
As  Desire  said,  "  It's  a  bore,  of  course,  to  be  without  money 
sometimes,  but  one  can  be  very  comfortable  without  much 
of  it.  One  can't  be  more  than  happy,  and  we  should  be 
that,  you  know,  if  we  made  brown  crocks  with  our  own 
hands  one  month  and  took  the  road  with  them  and  peddled 
them  ourselves  the  next.  Oh,  Peter,  we  should  be  happy  if 
we  did  that  !  " 

She  held  to  that  opinion  to  her  dying  day,  probably 
correctly,  and  she  announced  it  first  on  the  Sunday  before 
they  were  married — a  Sunday  when  they  went  up  the  hill 
together  to  look  at  the  fox  terrier's  grave. 

On  that  Sunday  they  did  another  thing  too,  one  which 
seemed  like  part  of  the  marriage  rite  to  them.  They  came 
home  by  the  way  they  came  six  months  ago  when  they  last 
came  down  the  hill — by  the  path  that  passes  the  deserted 
chapel.  Now,  as  then,  it  was  near  twilight  when  they 
reached  the  little  grey  building  ;  now,  as  then,  they  looked 
in  and  saw  the  old  man  kneeling  at  his  service  alone.  With 
one  accord  they  paused. 

"  Desire,"  Peter  said,  and  he  bared  his  head  as  he  spoke, 
"  shall  we  thank  God  together  ?  " 

She  put  her  hand  in  his,  and  they  went  in  and  knelt  down 
side  by  side  among  the  shadows. 

When  the  darkness  had  all  fallen  the  old  man  came  out. 
He  was  alone,  as  he  had  been  every  Sunday  these  many 
years,  as  he  always  would  be,  for  no  one  to  his  knowledge 
ever  shared  his  lonely  orisons.  On  the  doorstep  something 
glimmered  in  the  fading  light — a  gold  coin  and  a  woman's 

375 


DESIRE 

ring  lying,  placed  side  by  side.  He  looked  at  them  in 
wondering  amazement ;  to  him  it  was  as  if  they  had 
dropped  from  heaven,  nearly  a  miracle. 

But  below  him  there  were  two  who  had  that  day  paid 
their  vows — two  for  whom  the  world  also  yet  held  miracles, 
for  they  walked  together  along  a  steep  path  on  the  grey 
hillside,  a  path  that  led  to  where  lights  gleaming  through 
the  gloom  spoke  of  home. 


THE    END 


Richard  day  <5r>  Sons,  Limited,  London  and  B-ungay. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REG 


A     000129088     1 


